Let Me Count the Ways
by MaryRoyale
Summary: Love doesn't come in just one flavour. An expression of the varieties of love of which human beings are capable expressed through characters of the HPverse. A series of One-Shots. Happy Valentine's Day 2016.
1. Charlie Weasley

_A/N: This is meant to be an anthology that explores the spectrum of love and sexuality. The title comes from Elizabeth Barret Browning's sonnet 43 in "Sonnets from the Portuguese". Its first line reads: How do I love thee? Let me count the ways._

 _There will be chapter every day for the month of February, which means 29 total chapters this year. Each chapter is meant to be short—less than 1000 words—but there might be a time or two that I go over that self-inflicted limit._

 _29 chapters about different pairings/groupings/etc. is a somewhat daunting challenge. So I would like to thank all the people who offered suggestions when I went blank: Nexie, our Preciousss, Auntie_L, Faerieflightz, and an anon on tumblr._

 _This is a gift of love, about love, from me to you._

 _Your first gift is asexual/aromantic, so this explores aromantic love. You could call it agape, platonic, or something else._

/\/\/\/\/\

It was a standing joke on the Romanian reserve that Charlie loved dragons more than he loved people. That wasn't exactly true—he loved plenty of people; he just didn't want to shag any of them. Not that he wanted to shag the dragons, either. It was just… complicated.

At Hogwarts, Charlie had never experienced a crush, and he'd never really _wanted_ anyone. Mum had worried herself sick over that, and Dad had tried to have an awkward conversation about whether or not Charlie liked wizards. While Charlie understood that his Mum and Dad loved and cared for him—he couldn't stand the smothering weight of their _concern_.

Romania and its dragon reserve had been the answer to all of his prayers. Distance from his family had allowed Charlie to just… _be_ … and that's all he really wanted. Here he had the freedom to be himself, and no one worried about whether or not Charlie was going to get married and have children.

The only downside to Charlie's seemingly permanent lack of love life was that some people felt that he should change shifts with them whenever _they_ wanted just because he didn't have a girlfriend or a boyfriend. Charlie dreaded Valentine's day and the flurry of demands that were couched as requests. The worst part was that most people couldn't understand how insulting they came across. As though they honestly couldn't figure out why Charlie wouldn't jump at the chance to make sure that _their_ love life ran smoothly. He snorted in amusement.

That was why people like Higgs were so precious to Charlie. Higgs had come to the reserve 5 years ago, just after the war, and Charlie had a point of being friendly and polite to the former Slytherin. Higgs had accepted all of Charlie's overtures with the cool grace that was practically a signature of his House, but he had never presumed on their friendship. Not once, in the entire 5 years, had Higgs ever asked Charlie to switch shifts on any of the major holidays, which was why Charlie was striding toward Higgs' cabin at the moment.

"Weasley! What are you doing here? Is something happening? I didn't hear the alarms," Higgs blurted out when he answered the door. He turned to grab his work uniform—thick, fireproofed dungarees with a matching jacket—when Charlie put his hand on his arm to stop him.

"Higgs, no. It's fine. I came over because I wanted to offer to work for you on Tuesday," Charlie explained quickly.

"Tuesday?" Higgs echoed Charlie with a frown. Immediately, he shook his head. "No, Weasley, that's fine. Isadora and I have something planned for next weekend. She understands how it is."

"Are you sure? You could do some special surprise for her. It's my understanding that witches tend to like that sort of thing," Charlie said.

"Charlie… you don't have to do this," Higgs said with a frown. "I don't… I don't expect you to do this just because… well, you know."

"I _want_ to do this," Charlie explained. "Terrence, you're the only person I know that doesn't expect it. You've never asked. You have no idea how much I appreciate that."

Higgs stared at him for a moment. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yeah, I am. You're important to me, Higgs. You're probably my best friend either on the reserve or off. Let me do this," Charlie explained carefully. A dull flush rose up his neck.

"Wow. I… me, too," Higgs admitted. His ears turned pink. "It was hard, after the war, and you never held any of that against me. You had more of a right to than most of the people who did, but you didn't. That meant a lot to me. It still does. Thank you, Weasley."

Charlie grinned. "Just have a happy Valentine's day with Isadora."

Higgs nodded. "We will."

That Valentine's day was one of the most stress-free that Charlie had experienced in years—even after one of the dragons went into an unexpected heat and began her mating flight months early.


	2. MillieBlaise

_A/N: The second gift is romantic asexual. Every couple/thruple/grouping is unique unto itself with unique needs, desires, hopes, and dreams. This tiny story is meant to capture the joy of finding someone who 'gets' you._

/\/\/\/\/\

When Millicent woke in the morning, the scent of roses was heavy in the air. She knew without even looking that all of them would be perfect and long-stemmed. She also knew that they would be white roses—to represent pure love. She smirked and stretched langorously in her bed. Blaise was such a romantic.

With breakfast came the delivery owls. A small parade of owls flew through her window, depositing gift after gift. Millicent rolled her eyes, but she opened each one. There was an impressive array of jewelry, several boxes of confections, books, a new pair of flying goggles, and tickets to the wizarding ballet. She heard the Floo activate and a familiar tread make its way across her living room. She automatically tilted her cheek up so that it could receive its due.

"I couldn't stay away until lunch," Blaise admitted as he sat down gracefully next to her. "What do you think?"

"This is too much, Blaise," Millicent protested.

"No, it isn't," Blaise retorted. He leaned forward and took Millicent's hand in his. "Do you know how long I looked for someone like you? Someone who understood me? You, my darling, are infinitely precious to me, and it is my firm intention to never let you doubt that for a moment."

Millie rolled her eyes at him again. "I know exactly what that's like," she countered drily. "And you are just as special to me, but Blaise, really. All of _this_ isn't necessary."

"It isn't the same," Blaise muttered with a scowl. "At least as a witch society prefers it if you stay locked up tighter than a cloister. They expect me to be gallivanting about, sowing my oats all over the place. No one bothers to ask if I even _want_ to sow oats."

"That's true," Millie said thoughtfully. She looked at the pile of presents that spilled across her table. "I suppose this is more an expression of gratitude."

"A little gratitude," Blaise allowed with a shrug. He slipped an arm about her waist and pulled her into his lap. "But more love."

Millicent put her arms about Blaise's neck and kissed him on the cheek. "I love you, too, you idiot."

"How about we blow off the extremely difficult-to-get reservations at L'hermitage and just cuddle?" Blaise asked cheerfully.

"Absolutely not," Millie countered. "I need to show off some of this jewelry."

"You could wear it while we cuddle," Blaise suggested.

Millie laughed. "I could. Dinner first, though."

"Then we can cuddle?" Blaise asked worriedly. 

"That sounds lovely," Millicent agreed with a happy sigh.


	3. ArabellaMundungus

_A/N: As I said, your gifts explore both love and sexuality. This gift is a tribute to those who neither need nor want love. I suppose I would classify it as heterosexual/aromantic. Or I could say that Arabella Figg is a strong, independent woman who takes care of her own needs. Take your pick._

 _Arabella Figg/Mundungus Fletcher_

/\/\/\/\/\

When the doorbell rang that Friday, Arabella wasn't expecting anyone. One of her cats, Mr Tibbles, yowled a warning to whomever was on the other side of the door. Arabella went to the door and opened it. Standing on her front porch was Mundungus Fletcher who appeared to have taken a bath and even his slightly rumpled clothing seemed cleaner. Clutched in one hand was a large display of white lilies.

"It isn't Tuesday," Arabella stated with a frown.

"It's Valentine's Day," Mundungus announced with an air of pride. He thrust the lilies at her. "These are for you."

Arabella automatically moved back from the flowers. "You idiot! Lilies are poisonous for cats. I can't have that in the house," she screeched, genuine fear for her beloved cats bleeding through into her voice.

Mundungus frowned. "But… I went to a lot of work to get these—special for you!"

"You stole those from the funeral home down the road," Arabella countered flatly.

Mundungus shrugged. "Mebbe. Still, I was tryin' to make Valentine's day nice for you."

"Mundungus, we've been over this. I am not your girlfriend. You are not my boyfriend. You come over once a week. We both relieve a little tension. It works well for both of us, but this," and here she waved her hand between them, "is not a relationship."

"You just want me for my body," Mundungus protested loudly.

Arabella eyed the surrounding houses and noted with relief that most of them were at work or out running errands. She glared at her some-times lover.

"Of course," she snapped. "That's the whole point, isn't it? We've had this arrangement for a year and a half."

"But… don't you want to make an honest man of me?" Mundungus asked with a distinct pout.

Arabella snorted in amusement. "I don't know if that's entirely possible."

"But-," Mundungus began again and Arabella held up a hand to stop him.

"Look, I don't know who put this bee in your bonnet, but I can guess," Arabella said darkly. "You can tell Molly Weasley, from me, that _no_ I don't need a husband to make my life complete. I had one of those and while he was fine while he lasted, he certainly didn't leave me aching to replace him."

"It weren't-," Mundungus tried again, but he faltered under Arabella's glare.

"I don't _need_ to be loved. Some people do, and I respect that, but I'm not one of them. Why can't they respect me?" Arabella huffed in indignation and put her hands on her slim hips. "I'm not exactly a naïve young girl who doesn't know what she wants. I'm… well, never you mind about my exact age. It's enough that I know my own mind and heart, thank you very much."

"So… you don't want no flowers nor jewelry?" Mundungus asked. He shifted slightly and Arabella heard the distinct _chink_ of metal in his pockets.

Arabella threw up her hands in front of her to ward off any other stolen 'gifts' that Mundungus might have on his person.

"Merlin's beard, _no_!" Arabella protested.

Mundungus considered that for a moment. "And I can still come ter see you next Tuesday?"

"Yes," Arabella replied with a nod. Then she paused. "Well, as long as you don't let some idiot talk you into anything this ridiculous ever again."

"Huh." Mundungus scratched at his chin and tilted his head slightly. "All right then." He tucked the lilies behind his back and nodded to her. "Have a happy… er, have a pleasant day, Arabella."

Arabella snorted. "The same to you, Mundungus."


	4. Minerva McGonagall

_A/N: This gift is about lost love._

 _Minerva McGonagall's HP wiki entry is sad enough to make you cry all by itself. The events in this piece are taken directly from that. She was, very briefly, engaged to a Muggle named Dougal McGregor. In the 1980s, very briefly, she was married to a pureblood wizard named Elphinstone Urquhart._

/\/\/\/\/\

"Happy Valentine's Day, Headmistress," a Fifth year greeted her as she strode through the school.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Miss Longbottom," Headmistress McGonagall replied. She paused and smiled at the girl. "Did Mr Potter give you that bracelet?"

"Yes, ma'am," Alice Longbottom replied with a shy smile.

"Albus is a fine, young wizard," McGonagall said politely. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, ma'am," Alice murmured.

As the youngest Longbottom drifted away on a happy cloud, McGonagall watched her with a melancholy air. Hopefully, Alice would make all the right choices.

 _Not like you, Minnie_.

Love had never come easily for Minerva. As a child, they had lived in a remote village in the highlands where her father was the only Presbyterian minister for miles around. The only other magical people that Minerva knew were her mother and her little brothers. There was her mother's family, but they lived far away and weren't able to visit often.

The first man that Minerva had fallen in love with had been the son of a farmer in the village. He had been young, single, and handsome, but even better he had a wicked sense of humor and made her laugh.

"Marry me, Minnie," he had whispered to her under the stars.

"Oh, Dougal! Yes," Minerva had cried and flung her arms about his neck.

Minerva floated back to her family's home, her heart swelling in her chest. Dougal loved her, and she loved him.

"Minerva? Is that you?" Her mother called.

"Yes, Mam," Minerva called back.

Isobel came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a dishtowel and frowned at her daughter.

"An owl brought you a letter from the Ministry. I set it on the table there. You look flushed… are you well?" Isobel asked. She moved toward her daughter and patted Minerva's cheeks. "Did something happen?"

 _Dougal asked me to marry him and I said yes._

"No," Minerva replied. "I'm fine, Mam. Let me see my letter."

 _Pleased to offer you a position with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement… Impressed with your NEWTs scores and your glowing letters of recommendation…_

The world stopped with that letter. Applying to the Ministry had been more of a lark than anything. Minerva had understood all too well that her half-blood status meant that her choices would be limited. She would have never imagined in a million years that she would actually receive a job offer.

A cold, icy hand gripped her heart. _Dougal_. If she married Dougal, she wouldn't be able to accept this position, and she would be just like her mother. The Statute of Secrecy would force her to lie about who she was and hide her wand away. If she had children, they would undoubtedly be magical; half-bloods like her that would never fully accepted by either society.

Love, and the feel of Dougal's strong arms wrapped around her, blinded her for a moment, but Minerva could see the future all too clearly now, and it chilled her to the bone. Her mother had never wanted anything but to be Mrs. McGonagall. Minerva wanted so much more, and she knew in the deepest part of her that eventually… she would resent Dougal.

/\/\/\/\

He hadn't believed her at first.

"Min, is it summat I've done?" He had asked with an expression of honest confusion that tore at her conscience.

"No, never Dougal," she had choked out while trying not to break down in tears. She stiffened her spine and her resolve. "I… I've thought it over and we just wouldn't suit. I… I'm so sorry."

"Minerva," he whispered in a voice that was so lost and forlorn she couldn't bear it.

"I'm sorry," she replied. "I… I know that you… I'm sorry."

/\/\/\/\

Two years later, her mother sent her the wedding invitation for Dougal McGregor and Mary Geddes. She attended, but under a disillusionment charm. Mary and Dougal were wed in the village kirk by Minerva's father. The simple ceremony was beautiful, and it was obvious that both Mary and Dougal loved one another. Minerva tried very hard not to hate them and in the end, Minerva couldn't hate either of them for the choices that she had made.

/\/\/\/\

"Marry me, Minerva?" Elphinstone Urquhart begged her.

"No," Minerva sighed. She turned on her heel and left Hogsmeade.

"What is that, the 100th time he's asked her?" Poppy Pomfrey asked curiously.

"The 698th time," Pomona corrected Poppy.

"Gracious," Poppy murmured.

"He's been in love with her ever since she worked at the Ministry," Pomona explained as they walked back to Hogsmeade behind Minerva.

"But… she she's been teaching here since 1957," Poppy sputtered.

Pomona shrugged. "She doesn't love him."

/\/\/\/\

Minerva cringed at her memories. There was a time when she thought she knew exactly what love was. It wore only shape and it had only one name. She had clung to that belief for decades—until after Dougal died. She shook her head. No, until after Elphinstone died. It wasn't until then that she realized that love wasn't as rigid as she had supposed, and then… it had been too late.

Somehow she had fallen in love with Elphinstone Urquhart—who had never wavered—but she never had the chance to tell him. Perhaps he had known her better than she knew herself. On good days, she hoped that was true.


	5. LuciusNarcissa

_A/N: This is a gift of Secret Romantics. It started out with a conversation among my Falcons (as many good things do) and we were joking and laughing about how Lucius and Narcissa were secretly utterly romantic saps. Lucius would compose odes and sonnets to Narcissa, and she would call him 'Lulu' and it was awesome. Then I tried to write it, and this happened instead. This is Lucius and Narcissa's relationship through Draco's eyes._

/\/\/\/\/\

The first time Draco saw a husband and wife kiss, he was 8 years old. Mother had taken him to Diagon Alley to be fitted for new robes, and Madam Malkin was tutting about how quickly children grew and Mother was making polite noises of agreement when Draco looked out the window. There was a witch holding a little girl in her arms and two boys standing near her. The wizard with them patted the boys on the head and then leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

"Mother?" Draco called.

"Yes, my darling?" Mother turned to look at him.

"What are they doing?" He asked, pointing out the window.

Mother looked out the window and her lip curled slightly. It was the same face she made when Mr. Bulstrode drank too much wine and laughed too loudly at dinner parties.

"Engaging in a vulgar public display," Mother said flatly. She turned to frown at him. "Avert your eyes, Draco."

Later, he would find out that most people called it a 'kiss'.

As Draco grew older, he realized that many couples regularly kissed and embraced… sometimes they even did it in public. People would say that this showed that they loved one another; that they cared for one another.

Did that mean that Mother and Father didn't love one another?

At 10, Draco began to spy on his parents. He didn't sneak about the house or hide in cupboards because there was no real point to that. Mother and Father weren't about to break out in protestations of undying love to one another in the hall or the parlour.

Instead, he watched them, scrutinizing their every move. Father always Apparated first if it was the three of them, and Mother would follow bringing Draco by Side-Along. If it were just the two of them, Father would take Mother by Side-Along. When they Flooed anywhere, Father would always go first. Father always opened doors for Mother and pulled out chairs for her. Father always kept his hand at the small of Mother's back when they walked together, but when they stood, there was always a tiny sliver of space between them.

Other couples were more openly affectionate. There wasn't a dinner party or weekend fête that Draco didn't go to where he didn't see couples that smiled fondly at one another, or ignored the hostesses careful seating arrangements so that they could sit next to one another.

When Draco was 15, he learned how very dangerous that public affection could be. The Dark Lord _enjoyed_ hurting people. He didn't do it for effect—he didn't do it to make a point—he did because he liked to watch people beg and plead and promise him everything. Draco noticed that people were far more willing to promise the Dark Lord whatever he wanted if someone they loved was at risk.

Both of Draco's parents tried to shield him from the worst of what was happening, but when the Dark Lord was living in your home there was only so much one could do. Father had become grim and solemn, and Mother had become stiff and silent retreating behind the cool, polite façade of hostess.

Once, when they thought no one was watching, Draco saw Father slip a note in Mother's pocket; her fingers pressed against the fabric of her robes, and her eyes slid up to his for only a fraction of a second.

After that ill-fated mission to the Ministry, Mother changed. No one else seemed to notice, but none of them knew Mother the way Draco did. Not even Aunt Bellatrix knew Mother that well—not anymore. Before, Mother had been the obvious hostess. She was publicly visible and made an effort to see to everyone's needs. After, she retreated to her private suite and left the running of the house to the House-Elves that were bound to the Death Eaters.

Most of the Death Eaters, including Aunt Bellatrix, assumed that Mother was trying to avoid the Dark Lord. That may have been part of it, but Draco knew there was more to it than that. He regularly walked past her rooms since they were in the same wing of the manor, and more than once he was certain that he had heard her crying.

"Mother?" Draco knocked perfunctorily on her sitting room door and poked his head into the room.

"Draco," Mother cried. Her spine stiffened and she stuffed something into her writing desk. She turned toward him and gave him a stiff, pained smile. "What is it?"

"It's time, Mother," he reminded her.

All the blood drained from Mother's face and she nodded. "Of course," she whispered. "How silly of me."

Not even the pain of his still-burning Mark distracted Draco from the fact that Mother had voluntarily left the house with Aunt Bellatrix. Mother never left the house anymore. He snuck upstairs to her sitting room. Luckily, Mother had forgotten to lock her writing desk. He supposed he had the Mark and the Dark Lord to thank for that. Carefully, he slid open the drawer. A thick stack of letters was shoved into the very back of the drawer, bound with green silk ribbon.

 _My darling Narcissa,_

 _You know that you are my heart, my soul, my life. Your love is the only thing that tethers me and keeps me sane. I cannot tell you how my much my arms ache to hold you and how difficult it is to sleep without you near. Your lips are—_

The letter continued in Father's elegant hand, but Draco could feel his face growing pink and he couldn't read the rest of it. The other letters were similar excepting that quite a few of them contained original love poems that Father had composed for Mother. He sifted through to the very first letter, and realized that it was dated 1973—when his parents were still at Hogwarts.

In his hands, Draco was holding the history of his parents' relationship… a relationship that had existed below the surface, hidden from view. Draco stared at the letters in his hands and thought about his Mother and Father. _No, not hidden_. _Protected_.

Carefully, he put the letters back into their neat stack, rebound them with their ribbon, and hid them in the back of Mother's drawer. He locked Mother's desk with her usual spell—an obscure piece of magic that Mother had found only by chance in a book in the Malfoy library—and gave a small nod of satisfaction.

"Draco? What are you doing in here?"

He spun on his heel to stare at his mother. He smiled weakly and held out his arm.

"I was hoping that you knew of something that might help," he lied. There was nothing that would help. Everyone knew that.

"There's a pain potion that I brew for your father," Mother replied. She pulled a small vial out of her cloak pocket. "I forgot to leave it with you before I left. I'm sorry, my darling."

"Thank you, Mother."

"Go back to your rooms, Draco," Mother said gently. She pressed a hand to his cheek. "They may check on you, and they mustn't find you here."

Draco nodded. If they found him here, Mother would become a target. He couldn't let that happen. He would protect Mother—just as Father had done.

"I wasn't thinking," he told her. He shook his head ruefully. "I'll be more careful."

"I know you will. Now go."


	6. PansyGreg

_A/N: This gift is a little messy and complicated... just like life. My understanding is that there are a variety of expressions of asexuality. A person can be asexual and develop crushes on people of any gender—just like anyone else. So in this story you should know that Pansy is pansexual and polyamorous, which means she dates more than one person at a time, and that all of her boyfriends and girlfriends know about one another. Greg is both pansexual and asexual, which might sound like a paradox, but it means that he can have crushes on men, women, queergender—he just doesn't want to shag any of them, or he might at some point wish to, but I felt that was up to Greg and not really pertinent to this story at this time._

 _Also, I'm posting this ridiculously early where I live, but I'm going to be in an area with no cell service or wifi for most of the day._

/\/\/\/\/\

"You don't have plans for Thursday, do you?"

Adrian Pucey looked up from his desk to frown at the witch standing in his office doorway. Mandy Brocklehurst was pretty enough, he supposed, for a half-blood—but she wasn't exactly his cup of tea; she was too pushy and too loud and too obvious. It grated on his nerves.

"Are you asking me out, Brocklehurst?" He drawled as he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head.

"No, of course not," she snapped.

She was annoyed. Adrian smirked at her, and wondered which barb had hit its mark. Was it the use of her last name? It might be… the one time she had tried to call him Adrian he had made it quite clear that she hadn't earned that privilege.

"Which Thursday?" Adrian continued.

"Next Thursday, of course," Brocklehurst huffed at him.

Adrian quirked a brow at her. "Why?"

"Because I want to take Pansy to dinner," Brocklehurst admitted. "I just wanted to make sure that you hadn't already asked her. I've already checked with Gabriel, and he hasn't any plans for Valentine's day."

"That's because Truman isn't an idiot," Adrian observed with a cool little smile. "Valentine's day is Greg's. It always is and it always will be. Get used to it, or go find a new girlfriend."

Brocklehurst frowned at him. "But… Greg isn't… they don't…"

Adrian rolled his eyes. "Whether or not Pansy shags Greg is really not the point. He's still her boyfriend. If you want to be with Pansy then you'll deal with Greg and Valentine's day. If you can't, well, that's your problem, not mine."

Brocklehurst sputtered for a moment. "It's Valentine's day," she muttered finally with a petulant scowl.

"So what? Valentine's day is only for the people that Pansy's actually shagging? That's charming, Brocklehurst. Now get the fuck out of my office. Don't come back unless I explicitly invite you," Adrian snarled.

With a swirl of her robes, Brocklehurst turned on her heel and practically fled Adrian's office. He collapsed in his seat and sighed. _I suppose I should have explained, but she's the damn Ravenclaw. She should be smart enough to work it out on her own._ He let his head fall back against his chair. Pansy would either throttle him, or give him that special smile—the one that said she was inordinately proud of him.

/\/\/\/\/\

The cemetary was quiet and still, but it usually was in February. A few quick charms and the snow was cleared away so that Pansy and Greg could lay out the thick picnic blanket with its built-in warming charms. Pansy busied herself pulling things out of the basket while Greg carefully placed the huge bouquets of flowers on Vincent's grave.

"Happy birthday, Vincent," Greg murmured as he gently touched Vincent's headstone.

"Come try some of this," Pansy called to Greg.

Maneuvering around the array of all of Vincent's favorite foods, Greg sat down next to Pansy. She held out a spoon and he dutifully opened his mouth.

"Good, yeah?" Pansy asked.

Greg chewed and swallowed. "It's perfect, Pansy," he told her. He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. "Just like it always is. Thank you."

Pansy shook her head at him. "Don't thank me. I cared for Vincent as well. Maybe not the way that you did, but I cared for him."

Every Valentine's day went along similar lines. Pansy carefully planned the day to include Vincent as much as she could. They visited his grave, ate his favorite foods, and did some of the things that he loved to do—which usually meant a couple of rounds of gobstones and some flying depending on the weather.

In the evening, Pansy would take Greg home, they would have a soothing bubble bath, and a light supper. It was an emotionally draining day for Greg, and he appreciated all the little touches Pansy put in to the day to make sure that he felt loved and cared for.

"I love you," he blurted out. It was important to tell people that. Sometimes… you never got the chance, otherwise.

A slow, soft smile spread across her face. "I know, Greg. I love you, too."


	7. LeeOliver

_A/N: This gift could be classified as 'love makes you do the wacky', or 'being a fool for love'. That time you totally humiliated yourself in front of your crush and, you know, the entire universe. Lee Jordan/Oliver Wood was a special request from Nexie.  
_

/\/\/\/\/\

"It's a gorgeous day here in River Piddle as we gather for what promises to be one of the most exciting games of the season. Keeper Oliver Wood is looking to be in fine form despite that nasty match with the Holyhead Harpies two weeks ago," Lee Jordan announced smoothly listening with half an ear to the cheering of the crowds.

The members of the Puddlemere United team took a few turns around the pitch while the home crowd went wild. Lee smugly ogled Wood's bum in his Keeper's gear, secure in the knowledge that it was actually his job to do so. Wood had filled out since Hogwarts and Lee, for one, rather admired the view.

Whilst commentating Lee only drank water with lemon in it, and only enough to keep his throat from going dry even though there were stand-in commentators, in case the game went on for days and Lee needed bathroom breaks, meal breaks, or sleep. Lee loved Quidditch, and he didn't like missing the action—not even for sleep.

Sunshine and a clear February day boded well for the game over all. Lee doubted that this one would drag on for weeks, but he had his rucksack at his feet with a change of clothes anyway.

"Let's give a warm Puddlemere welcome to the Caerphilly Catapults," Lee called out, and grinned to hear the crowd catcall the Catapults.

There was a staunch contingent of Catapults fans, making a bright scarlet and green splash in the stands, and they stood and cheered as the Catapults took the pitch.

/\/\/\/\/\

 _7 days later_

Exhaustion was about to overtake Lee, but he had to hang on for just one more announcement. Michael Corner, one of the stand-by commentators had just arrived, and Lee was looking forward to a kip in one of the cots against the wall. He yawned so widely that he could feel his jaw pop, and then he pointed his wand at his throat and cast a _Sonorous_.

"Happy Valentine's day, everyone," Lee announced. "I've been told that there are chocolates and flowers making their way through the stands. If your sweetheart is beside you—you'll still be able to celebrate. If he or she isn't, just let your vendor know and they can Owl your selection for you."

"Oh, bugger," muttered Corner. "I forgot... bloody hell. I'll be right back, Jordan, I swear."

Lee waved off Corner and turned back to the game. Oliver Wood had just entered back into the game after his required 8 hours off. The sun shone off of the gleaming leather of Wood's Keeper's gear, and Lee admired the breadth of his shoulders dreamily.

"Wood's riding his favourite broom today," Lee observed with a conversational air. "Firebolt's newest model and a sleek beauty she is, too. Then again, Wood manages to look good no matter what he's riding, which I suppose is due to his magnificent arse. Voted 'Best Bum in Quidditch' by Witch Weekly for a record 5 years in a row, and I can't really disagree with them."

"Jordan!"

Lee turned and blinked blearily at Sally-Anne Perks, a reporter for one of the Quidditch magazines, who was staring at him in horrified fascination.

"Do you disagree, Miss Perks?" Lee asked.

Sally-Anne shook her head pointed frantically to her throat. Lee frowned at her.

"I suppose you really can't comment, can you? You're supposed to be an impartial observer," Lee mused. "I'm supposed to be impartial, too, really, but I defy anyone to be impartial when faced with shoulders like those."

"Jordan!" Michael Corner burst into the press box and ran over to him, clapping a hand over his mouth. He turned to Sally-Anne and glared at her. "Do a _Finite_ , damn it!"

Sally-Anne fumbled for her wand and then waved it at Lee's throat.

"Come on, mate, you need to get some sleep," Corner muttered as he pressed him down into the cot.

"But, Wood's back in the game," Lee protested half-heartedly.

"He'll still be there, later, Jordan," Corner replied. "Sleep."

Almost immediately, Lee's eyes slipped shut and he began to breathe deeply and evenly.

/\/\/\/\

Lee woke with a groan. He looked out around, wondering where everyone had gone. Had the game ended?

"Magnificent arse?" A familiar Scottish voice drawled.

Lee's head whipped about and he stared at Oliver Wood, who was leaning against the door frame and eyeing him speculatively. Lee ducked his head and played with the thin blanket that someone had tossed over him.

"I hadn't slept for 24 hours," Lee protested.

"So you didn't mean it then?" Wood asked. He appeared to be slightly disappointed.

"Of course I meant it," Lee retorted. "I just didn't mean to say it in front of a packed stadium of fans."

Oliver gave him a slow, wicked smile. "Fancy something to eat?"

Lee smirked back at him. "Sounds good."


	8. RonLavender

_A/N: I find it hard to classify this gift. You could say that it's a gift about gifts. Looking beyond the gift itself, however awful or tacky or ugly it might be, to the heart of the gifter._

 _The only other thing that I'll add is that for some reason, I kept thinking that Ron's dress robes from his 4th year were hand-me-downs from the family-that they were from some doddering uncle. Looking at GoF, I realized that wasn't true. Molly had gone to a second-hand dress robe shop and had done the best she could with the selection that they had. In that perspective, I would guess that the twins' robes actually *are* hand-me-downs-maybe from Bill and Charlie._

/\/\/\/\/\

"Daddy, Daddy, look what I made you!" Rose shrieked excitedly.

The five year-old witch plowed into him and gripped him about the leg while she tried to thrust a large, slightly-misshapen piece of heavy paper at him. It was dripping with lace and ribbons and covered in some sort of strange material that made it sparkle.

DADDY was spelled out carefully in what appeared to be fake-gems.

"Erm."

"They're for Valentine's day," Lavender explained from the doorway. She had her arms crossed over her chest and was smirking at him. "I got one as well."

Ah. Then this was supposed to be a heart. At least, that's what he hoped his daughter had tried to do.

"It's... lovely, sweetheart," he assured her. Lavender's smirk grew as he assured her that it was truly the most beautiful Valentine's day card that he had ever received.

"Are you going to put it with your other treasures?" Rose demanded.

Lavender stopped smirking. "What treasures?" She asked curiously.

"It's nothing," he said with a firm look for his daughter.

A couple years ago, Rose had been sick and Lavender had been working late. He had tried everything, but in the end it had been his old school trunk that had got Rose to stop crying. She had watched in fascination as he took everything out and told her the stories that went with each item.

"Daddy," Rose pouted.

"Ron, what's she talking about?" Lavender asked with a frown.

"It's nothing," Ron protested again. He looked down at Rose. "Why don't we put this on the fridge, love? Daddy wants everybody to see what a lovely heart you made me, okay?"

A little cajoling and begging, and Rose was reluctantly convinced.

/\/\/\/\/\

Spring cleaning was one of those things that almost guaranteed that Ron would escape with Rose and Septimus off to Diagon Alley or to the Burrow. Lavender had been waiting for this moment for weeks. As soon as Ron had rushed out with a child under each arm, Lavender had crept off to the attic. Ron had a deep loathing for basements, and she highly doubted that he would put anything that he deemed a 'treasure' there.

Several hours later, Lavender was sweaty and frustrated. She had looked everywhere she could think to look, and she couldn't find anything remotely close to a 'treasure'. She sat down with a heavy sigh and glared at the attic. In the far corner of the attic, half-pushed into the alcove, was Ron's old school trunk.

Lavender froze. _No_. It couldn't possibly be that simple... could it? Lavender made her way over to the trunk and knelt before it. She pushed the lid of Ron's trunk up. Laying on top of everything was Rose's lop-sided valentine. A reluctant smile tugged at Lavender's lips. Rose had been so proud of her valentine, and Ron had showered her with praise. He was such a good father.

Next was a length of crumpled velvet and lace that confused Lavender until she shook it out and held it up. A snort of laughter escaped her lips and she shook her head. It was that god-awful set of dress robes that Ron had worn to the Yule Ball. She carefully refolded them and peered back into the trunk.

A half-forgotten box was buried underneath some commendations Ron had received after the war. Lavender's stomach dropped and she could feel her cheeks burn. With trembling fingers she reached out to take the box and open it. Laying in the box was a gaudy, garish, gold necklace with the tacky 'my sweetheart' leering out at her. Lavender snapped the box shut and clutched it to her chest.

"Find anything interesting," Ron asked quietly.

Lavender hunched her shoulders. "Why on earth did you keep _this_?" She asked. "It's beyond tacky. I... Merlin, I was such a little horror."

"You were alright," Ron countered. "I liked you well enough."

Lavender turned to glare at him. "Do you miss being called Won-Won?" She demanded.

Ron shuddered. "No."

"Then why keep this? She was an insecure, jealous, little git," Lavender growled.

"Don't talk that way about the woman I love," Ron snapped. His face flushed and he glared at her.

"I am _nothing_ like her. Not anymore," Lavender protested.

"Lav," Ron said gently. He knelt down on the floor next to her and cupped her face with one large, callused hand. "I keep it because _you_ got it for me and I love you. No, you aren't the girl you were in Hogwarts, and I'm not that boy either. It's a good thing, too. You know we didn't work out in school. It took years of growing and getting our shit together before we were able to really appreciate each other."

"That's true," Lavender admitted. She pressed her cheek into his hand. "Thank you."

"For what?" Ron appeared to be genuinely confused.

"For loving all of me, even the not-so-pretty bits," she told him with a small smile.

Ron snorted and shook his head. "No such thing, love. All your bits are lovely."

"Shameless flattery will get you nowhere," Lavender informed him haughtily and then spoiled it with a giggle.

"Nowhere?" Ron teased her. He looked around them. "Are you sure about that? Mum's got the kids until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Lavender asked with a smirk.

Ron nodded.

"Flatter me a bit more," Lavender suggested. "Let's see what happens."


	9. Siriremione

_A/N: This gift was a special request on tumblr, PMs and from my Falcons. Sirius/Remus/Hermione is a_ _ **very**_ _popular triad. In this story, I explored the difficulty of joining a well-established long-term relationship. If you think about it, Sirius/Remus would have decades of history. Anyone dating both of them, would have to deal with all of that shared history._

 _February 14, 2014_

Jealousy was an insipid emotion that belonged to the puerile and the insecure. It was a destructive emotion and Hermione stomped on it ruthlessly. Of all the things to be jealous of, Remus' affliction was not even worthy of the effort. She was not so selfish, so petty, as to make this all about _her_. He deserved so much more than that.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked.

"Bloody fucking miserable," Remus muttered. He squinted up at her from where his head rested against the table. "But you already knew that. What's the matter, Hermione?"

"Nothing," Hermione assured him quickly. She gave him a weak smile. "Do you want some more hot chocolate?"

Remus closed his eyes. "Are you making it, or is Padfoot?"

"I will," Hermione replied tartly.

"That sounds lovely," Remus muttered.

"I'll be right back," Hermione promised. She leaned over him and let her lips just barely brush his temple. He really couldn't stand to be touched this close to the full moon.

Hermione shook her head on the way to the kitchen. Remus couldn't stand for anyone but _Sirius_ to touch him this close to the full moon.

"Stop it," she hissed to herself as she rummaged through cupboards. "You're being a ridiculous twat."

Strong, warm arms slipped about her waist and pulled her back against a broad chest. Lips brushed against her ear and she fought the urge to shudder.

"I thought I would never live to see the day that the Brightest Witch of her age would be wrong," a husky voice murmured.

Defeated, Hermione sagged against him. She turned and buried her face in his chest.

"I'm not wrong," she mumbled against his shirt. "I _am_ a twat; the stupidest, most ridiculous cow in the world."

Gentle hands cupped her face and forced her to look up into grey eyes that always reminded Hermione of stormy skies. His thumbs caressed her cheeks.

"Love, what's wrong?"

"I...," Hermione stared up at Sirius, frozen in place.

The best part of her life was Remus and Sirius, and there were times when she wondered if perhaps she wasn't quite as bright as everyone liked to tease since it had taken her so long to realize what they wanted to offer, and to take them up on it. They had only been together for a span of months. Things were still new and fragile and delicate between the three of them—despite the fact that she had known them both for over 20 years, and was more than aware of their petty foibles.

Sirius frowned at her, worry writ clear on his face. "Hermione?"

She shook her head. "It's… it's nothing. Help me make some hot chocolate for Remus?"

/\/\/\/\/\

After the full moon, it seemed as though Remus and Sirius clung to Hermione a little tighter, but then she shook her head and dismissed that as a flight of fancy. It was more likely that she was clinging to them and they were humouring her. They were brilliant like that. She hummed in agreement and nodded to herself.

"Are you talking to the wall, love?" Remus asked with a frown.

"No, don't be silly. Did you need something?" Hermione turned to ask.

Remus ducked his head and the tips of his ears turned pink, which surprised Hermione. Remus didn't get embarrassed. She had rather doubted it was possible for either Remus or Sirius to blush.

"Erm, can you make sure to keep the weekend free," he asked her almost shyly.

Where was the pushy, aggressive man who liked to press her up against walls? Hermione's mouth fell open and she stared at him for a moment, but he was still staring at his feet so he hadn't noticed.

"Yes, of course," she murmured.

/\/\/\/\/\

Waking up alone wasn't that unusual and Hermione didn't think anything of it that Saturday. Waking up to a room that had been transformed to some kind of woodland bower replete with tiny flower and butterflies and what-all was _very_ unusual. A bird began to carol joyfully and Hermione tried to figure out where it was. The bed—which had been a four poster bed the night before—had four trees that grew together over the bed to form a leafy canopy.

"Ah, you're awake," Sirius said with a grin. "Fancy some breakfast?"

"What is this?" Hermione demanded and waved at their bedroom with one hand.

Sirius paused and frowned at her. "Don't you like it? I thought it was better than a room full of cut flowers. You always complain about those."

"So… this is on purpose?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, it is." Sirius pouted at her for a moment before he turned and left the room.

 _Great_. The day hadn't even officially begun and she'd already upset one of them. Hermione sighed heavily and considered collapsing back into the bed and claiming that she had the plague before she dragged herself over to her dresser and rummaged through it to find something to wear. She pulled on a warm, wooly jumper and a pair of jeans and padded down to the kitchen.

The kitchen was completely empty. Reflexively, Hermione turned to look at the clock that hung on the wall. It was just after 9. Where were Sirius and Remus?

"There you are," Remus called to her cheerfully. "Come one, we've got breakfast ready."

"But…"

"Sirius and I thought it might be nice if we ate out in the courtyard this morning," Remus said with half-smile.

It was impossible to say no to that smile. Hermione dared anyone to try. She let Remus slip one comforting arm about her waist and pull her toward the courtyard.

The courtyard—which was normally used for pick-up games of Quidditch, grilling, and drunken revelries—had been cleaned, weeded, and planted with spring blooms. She spied snowdrops, crocuses, and daffodils growing in an obvious display of crimson and gold. A large table, most likely transfigured from something in the courtyard, was covered with a linen tablecloth and almost groaned under the weight of the food on it.

"Are we having our 500 closest friends over for brunch?" Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow.

"We wanted to make sure that we had all of your favourite foods," Remus muttered.

"It's lovely, really it is," Hermione rushed to reassure him. She glanced at Sirius who was watching her with an unreadable expression. "The bedroom is lovely, too. It's… better than the twins' swamp," she offered weakly.

Sirius rolled his eyes at her. "Better than a swamp?" He huffed at her. "I'll have you know that was a fair piece of magic."

"I'm sure that it was," Hermione agreed immediately. Sirius growled at her and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Now you're just trying to make me feel better," he sulked.

Hermione marched over to the stupid transfigured table and started filling a plate randomly. She snatched a croissant and began eating it with determination.

"Look, Hermione," Remus began with a worried frown. "That's… that's really not necessary. You don't have to eat it if you don't want to."

"I want to," Hermione insisted after she swallowed what she had been chewing. "I'm hungry, damn it!"

"Obviously this isn't working, Remus," Sirius snapped.

The plate slipped out of Hermione's hand to shatter on the cobblestones of the courtyard. She choked on the piece of croissant that she'd been chewing on, and felt grateful to have an excuse for her watery eyes.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"Maybe this was a mistake," Remus agreed with a sigh.

"Fine," Hermione said numbly. "Fine, I'll just… give me a half-hour."

Sirius and Remus frowned at her.

"What are you talking about?" Remus asked.

"What do you need a half-hour to do?" Sirius said at the same time.

"To pack," Hermione replied in a listless voice.

Both men froze.

"You're leaving?" Sirius asked in a lost-sounding voice that made her already-breaking-heart crack wide open.

"Don't you… you just broke up with me," Hermione pointed out.

"We did not!" Remus protested.

Sirius scowled at her. "When did we do that?"

"You… you said it wasn't working," Hermione whispered.

"This." Sirius waved his arms wildly. "Trying to woo you with flowers and breakfast and specially-made woodland bowers."

"Trying to woo me?" Hermione looked from Sirius to Remus in confusion. "You've already got me, you mangy dog."

"Valentine's day," Remus reminded her quietly. "It was a full moon. We couldn't do anything."

"So this is our Valentine's day?" Hermione asked because, at this point, she desperately needed clarification.

"Well, yeah," Sirius said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Hermione threw the partially-eaten croissant she was still clutching at his head.

"How the hell was I supposed to know that?" She demanded.

"How could you think that we wouldn't celebrate Valentine's day with you?" Sirius yelled.

"How was I supposed to know that you would?" Hermione yelled back.

"When have we ever left you out of anything?" Remus demanded in bewilderment.

Hermione pressed her lips together to keep a litany of dates behind her teeth. Each and every one had been a full moon, and she was not going to do that to Remus. She was _not_. It was not his fault, it was nothing that he could help, and _damn it_ she wasn't that person. Unfortunately, Sirius seemed to understand.

"No!" He pointed a finger at her and he shook his head violently. "Bloody hell, woman, we love you!" He bellowed. He turned to Remus and punched him in the arm. "Tell her, you arse."

"Of course we love you," Remus yelled half at Sirius and half at Hermione.

"Well, I love you, too," Hermione screamed back at them. She clapped her hands over her mouth and stared at the both of them with wide eyes.

"Good," Sirius said firmly. "Now let's enjoy our bloody Valentine's day."

Meekly, Hermione accepted another plate from Remus piled high with pastries and fruit. She sat down in one of the lawn chaises with her plate perched on her knee and nibbled at a slice of melon.

"You'll need fresh mandrake leaves," Sirius stated. He sat down on the ground at her feet with the easy grace of a wizard half his age.

Hermione's gaze darted to Remus before coming back to Sirius' face. "Shouldn't you... what if he doesn't want that?"

"What if I don't want what?" Remus asked with a frown.

"Hermione to become an animagus," Sirius explained.

Remus turned to look at her in surprise. "You want to do that?"

"That would be okay with you?" Hermione whispered.

"Oh for the love of—yes, Remus, she really wants to be with you during the full moon. Yes, Hermione, he would really love for you to be there," Sirius snapped. He glared at the both of them. "We all love each other, we all want to be together, and we all want everyone to be included."

"All right then," Hermione said with a small smile. She picked up a miniature quiche and popped it in her mouth.

"Now that we've got that settled," Sirius continued. "Can we move on to the make-up sex?"

"Make-up sex?" Hermione choked on her quiche.

"You broke up with us. I think we should have make-up sex," Sirius pointed out with an injured air.

Hermione turned to stare at Remus who held up his hands in defeat.

"I am not turning down sex," Remus told her with a small smirk. "Sirius may accuse me of being self-sacrificing, but I'm not _that_ self-sacrificing."

Both men gave her winning smiles and big eyes. She was laughing before she realized it, wheezing and leaning against Remus' comforting shoulder. They were smiling with her, and Sirius was rubbing her left calf soothingly. _Merlin_ , how she loved them.

"Sex sounds good," Hermione decided.


	10. AlbusGellert

_A/N: This gift was requested by Auntie_L who asks for so very little that I do my best to give her what she wants. :D_

 _I know that there are people who are frustrated with the whole 'oh yeah, Dumbledore's gay' since it was never explored with any sort of depth in canon. I also know there are people who are irritated with the idea that Dumbledore's only love, Gellert Grindelwald, was a source of shame to him in his later years._

 _I tried to write this from the perspective that Dumbledore wasn't ashamed that he loved another man—more that he loved a Hitler-esque pureblood supremacist, and had allowed himself to be seduced to that way of thinking himself._

 _We all have that one boyfriend/girlfriend/significant other that we regret. Not because they were straight/bi/pan/gay/lesbian/republican but more because they pulled us into situations that we regretted, or encouraged decisions that we later regretted._

/\/\/\/\/\

 _February 14, 1945_

"You always were a hopeless romantic, Albus."

Decades had not dimmed the power of that voice on Albus' senses. His fingers tightened on his wand, and he swallowed nervously. He turned resolutely and met his adversary with his head held high.

"Grindelwald."

"Come, Albus," Grindelwald taunted him. "Surely we're on a first name basis."

"We were once," Albus admitted.

 _Acres of pale skin bared to his heated gaze. The sure hands that traced sigils on his spine. The press of lips against his throat._

 _The silence after Ariana's scream was cut off._

 _The whirl of robes as Gellert Apparated away._

"You still blame me," Grindelwald snapped.

"You left," Albus retorted. "What else was I to think? Ariana was dead and you disappeared!"

"It could just as easily have been you," Grindelwald sneered.

Albus' hand on his wand tightened until his knuckles were white.

"I know that! Don't you think I know that? It never would have happened if I hadn't-," Albus broke off and ground his teeth together.

Grindelwald didn't deserve to know any of this. He had no right to the knowledge of Albus' overwhelming guilt, or the sure knowledge that if Albus had done what he was supposed to do… if he had been a proper guardian to Aberforth and Ariana… his sister would still be alive.

Instead he had allowed his head to be turned by the beautiful, charming, seductive Gellert Grindelwald. For one glorious summer he had allowed himself to revel in what his after-school time should have been. He had lain in the grass with his head in Gellert's lap and listened to the other boy spin fantastic tales about what the world ought to be.

"If you hadn't loved me?" Grindelwald demanded harshly. He laughed and it was a twisted, bitter sound that made Albus' skin crawl. "Don't fool yourself, Albus. Ariana was gunpowder just waiting to go off. If she hadn't died she would have accidentally killed more people."

"Don't you _dare_ talk about her," Albus growled.

Grindelwald glared at him and his lip curled.

"No matter what happens today, you don't get the luxury of pretending that somehow it's some sort of noble battle for the greater good," Grindelwald snarled at him. "This is about blood and sex and death. This is because you resented being your family's Patriarch at 18. This is because you're pissed off that your poor, broken sister was killed. This is because you're angry and jealous that I left you."

"That's," Albus' voice cracked and he swallowed and glared back at Grindelwald. "That's not true. I should have seen what you… I shouldn't have listened."

"You couldn't help yourself," Grindelwald taunted him with a smirk. "You love the way power feels, Albus. It calls to you."

"No!" Albus protested.

In the curve of this wizard's cheek and in the clear, intelligent eyes, Albus could see the boy that he had loved—that had seduced him with his cleverness and his ideas about the future. Albus would have done _anything_ for Gellert—up to and including world domination. He shuddered to think what he would have done if Ariana had lived.

What atrocities would he have committed? Would he have been the one to oversee the Muggle concentration camps? Would he have killed? Would he have _enjoyed_ their fear and pain? He would never know.

Once Albus had realized how weak he was—how willing to do whatever he could to make Gellert happy—he vowed to never put himself in such a position ever again. He would eschew love. He wasn't capable of handling it. He wasn't strong enough to bear up under its weight and remain resolute.

"Are you ready, Albus?" Grindelwald called to him, his voice a caress.

"I've been ready for years," Albus called back.

The duel was anticlimactic. Grindelwald put up only the most token resistance. Albus disarmed him almost too easily, and when he held Grindelwald's wand in his hand he stared at it in shocked surprise. He looked up to find Grindelwald watching him with a small smile.

"It can't be," Albus protested.

"And yet," Grindelwald prompted him.

"But… how did I-," Albus faltered, confused about what this meant.

"How could you disarm me?" Grindelwald asked. At Albus' nod the smile grew. "I let you."

"Why?" Albus hadn't meant his question to sound so plaintive nor so raw and he winced.

"I did love you," Grindelwald said solemnly. "The Elder Wand doesn't really do anything by halves. I may not like you very much Albus, but I don't want you dead."

That stopped Albus cold; even after everything—all the pain over the loss of Ariana and the heartbreak of thinking that Grindelwald… that Gellert… had abandoned him—he didn't want Gellert dead either.

"I understand," Albus replied.

Grindelwald stared at him for a moment.

"What happens now?" He asked.

"I won't kill you," Albus said slowly. "They're waiting, at the bottom of the hill."

"To see who will triumph? How very brave of them," Grindelwald sneered.

"No one triumphed today, Gellert," Albus countered. He shook his head. "We've both lost something."


	11. AdMarcMione

_A/N: Relationships are all about compromise and communication. When you are willing to do something that you don't love doing because your partner does love doing it—that's a sacrifice of your time and a gesture of love. It should be compromise on everyone's part (we'll go hiking because you love it, but it would be nice if you would go to that Fungi seminar with me) because if one person is doing all the sacrificing all the time it's an unfair, unequal relationship._

 _There's no real context for this story, but it was a special request from my beta, Auntie_L._

 _Adrian/Hermione/Marcus_

/\/\/\/\/\

"Sit still," Ginny ordered.

"I'm trying," Hermione muttered.

"Don't talk," Ginny bit out between clenched teeth. "This is harder than you'd think, and when you talk it makes everything move."

With a deft hand, Ginny spread paint over Hermione's face. She picked up a brush with white paint and began to slide it over Hermione's cheek in careful, precise strokes. Finally, she stepped back and put her hands on her hips. Ginny tilted her head first one way and then the other before nodding to herself.

"Not bad, if I do say so myself," Ginny said at last.

"Can I see?" Hermione asked.

Wordlessly, Ginny handed her a hand mirror. Hermione studied her face painting—half white with a grey falcon on one cheek and half pale blue with a silver arrow on the other cheek—and then looked up at Ginny and grinned.

"Thank you." Hermione stood up and moved toward Ginny who held her hands up in a cautionary manner.

"Don't hug me! The paints still a bit wet. Give it a minute," Ginny told her quickly.

Hermione froze and let her arms drop to her sides. "Well, thank you anyway. I really appreciate this, Ginny."

"This is purely selfish," Ginny said with a smirk. "Now you have absolutely no excuse not to come see _me_ play with the Harpies."

"Yes, yes," Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. "I said I would, didn't I?"

"Have fun, Hermione," Ginny said with a grin.

"Oh, yes. Loads."

Ginny laughed and patted Hermione on the shoulder. "I've got to go, Harry's waiting."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Ginny," Hermione called as her friend left. Ginny waved a hand at her on her way to the Floo.

/\/\/\/\/\

Cautiously, Hermione picked her way through the stands until she found a seat that straddled the demarcation between the Arrows fans and the Falcon fans. Each Quidditch club had a loud, boisterous fan base, and both were in fine form—screaming and stamping their feet as their respective teams scored.

The mixture of Falcons and Arrows paraphernalia had drawn a few odd looks, but the fans mostly left Hermione alone. She wondered if the paint made it difficult to recognize her, and then she wondered if she might be able to wear face paint all the time.

The crowed hissed and Hermione's attention was dragged back to the game in time to see one of the Arrow beaters blatantly cheat and send a Bludger flying toward Marcus.

"He cheated!" Hermione shrieked indignantly.

"It's Quidditch," the wizard next to her said with a shrug.

The Arrows weren't the only ones to cheat that day. Just an hour later, the Falcons beaters worked together—one distracting the referee while the other cheated by flying over Adrian and kicking him in the head as he sped by.

"Merlin's pants!" Hermione cried. She stood up and began to yell at the referee. "Pay attention to the damn game, you addlepated ronyon!"

The Arrows fans on the one side of Hermione growled in agreement. She watched anxiously, but Adrian appeared to be alright. Quickly, she scanned the Falcons for Marcus' large figure, and when she spotted him he appeared to be threatening his team's beaters. _Good_. She was glad to see that even though Marcus and Adrian were on different teams they looked out for one another.

Quidditch was brutal, but Hermione had always known that. She could never watch a game without worrying if one of her friends was going to be hurt. Now… it was even worse. Every time someone collided with, or aimed a Bludger at Marcus or Adrian she winced in anticipation.

When she noticed the two Arrows' beaters doing something odd—she jumped to her feet again, protestations bursting forth. When they managed to attain _both_ Bludgers and positioned themselves so that they could target Marcus, Hermione saw red.

"Don't you dare!" She shrieked angrily.

Unfortunately, the beaters couldn't hear her, and they let their Bludgers fly. They hit Marcus in quick succession and knocked him back against the goal hoops. The sound of Marcus' head hitting the goal post echoed with a sickening crack and then he was plummeting to the ground. Hermione had her wand out and a cushioning charm on Marcus before any of the referees or coaches had reacted. Then she was moving through the crowd, pushing and shoving to get to the field.

"I'm sorry miss, club members and officials only past this point," The security guard drawled with a bored air.

"I don't give a damn," Hermione snapped. "I'm coming through—will you or won't you. Move back if you don't want to get hurt."

"Look here, miss," His partner protested. "You can't just barrel on through. Flint's been injured and you need to let the Healers help him."

"Right," Hermione muttered. She cast a quick _Incarcerous_ on the both of them and went through the gate.

"Miss! Miss, you can't go in there!"

Hermione ran faster.

A team of Healers was circled about Marcus, wands out and casting diagnostic spells. The rest of the Falcons were shuffling restlessly next to him, waiting for the verdict. Hermione couldn't help the whimper that escaped her at the sight of Marcus' still form. He was always moving, never standing still. She moved forward, determined to get to his side when someone grabbed her arm. Hermione yanked her arm free and turned to yell at whoever had tried to detain her.

"Leave the healers alone and let them work," An Arrows club member cautioned her.

"He's my husband!" Hermione glared up at the Arrow. "It's _your_ idiot beaters that have hurt him. They'd better pray that he recovers quickly!"

"Hermione?" Adrian called in surprise.

Hermione turned to her other husband. His normally pristine hair was sticking up where he'd probably run his hand through it. Sweat gleamed on his face and his cheeks were pink. Adrian was upright and conscious, which was more than she could say for poor Marcus.

With a sob, she flung herself in Adrian's arms. Adrian automatically pulled her against his chest and began to rub her back in soothing circles. She sniffled into his jersey before he gently pulled her back so he could look at her.

"What are you doing here?" Adrian asked. "You never come to our games."

"Because I can't be at two games at once," Hermione retorted. "I wanted to surprise you."

"It's definitely a surprise," Adrian muttered.

Hermione frowned up at him. "You don't want me here?" She knew that her hurt had leaked into her voice when Adrian winced.

"It's not that, love," Adrian assured her. "I just wish that Marcus had known. He would have been so proud to know that you were in the stands."

"He's waking up," The healers called out.

Hermione shoved her way through the healers to fall at her knees beside Marcus.

"Marcus, sweetheart? Can you hear me?" Hermione asked anxiously. She took one of his large hands between hers and clutched it to her chest.

Marcus blinked up at her, his grey eyes unfocused.

"Mione?" He rasped. He turned his head and squinted. "Am I at St. Mungo's?"

"No," Adrian answered for her. "Our wife decided that _today_ would be the perfect day to come to a game."

"Ade?"

"Yeah?"

"Gonna kill your beaters," Marcus rumbled. He lifted his hand from Hermione's grasp and brushed her cheek with his knuckles. "What's all this, then?"

"I wanted to support the both of you," Hermione explained.

"You hate Quidditch," Marcus reminded her.

"I don't _hate_ it," Hermione sighed. "And besides, you and Adrian do things that aren't your favorite just to make me happy. Why can't I do the same?"

"'S different," Marcus mumbled. He turned his head slightly to glare at Adrian. "Tell her, Ade."

"I think it's kind of cute," Adrian countered with a smirk for Hermione. "Very Gryffindor."

"They're going to start back up, Flint," the coach for the Falcons barked. "You fit to play?"

"Yeah, give me a second," Marcus called back.

"What?" Hermione shrieked. "You can't possibly go back in there!"

"Can," Marcus countered as he slowly moved to his feet. "Will. Kiss for luck?"

"Of course," Hermione sighed. She tilted her cheek up and then frowned at Marcus when he chuckled at her.

Grabbing her by the shoulders, Marcus tilted Hermione so that she was bent back over her arm. He snogged her thoroughly, mapping out the inner recesses of her mouth with skill and determination. When he set her back upright she was panting for air. Adrian took that as his cue to render her completely breathlessly.

The feel of Adrian's muscles moving under his jersey, and the scent of clean, male sweat mixed with the rosemary soap that both Marcus and Adrian preferred filled her nose and made her senses swim. Adrian's tongue teased her and made her press herself tightly against him. He pulled back and frowned at her.

"You'll stay down here. You can take turns sitting with the teams, but I'm not letting you back up into the bleachers without any support," Adrian commanded in an imperious voice that normally earned him the silent treatment.

Hermione's eyes narrowed and her lips pressed together. Then she sagged in his arms. "Normally, I would hex you, but I'm too worried about Marcus. I'll sit with the Falcons, just in case."

Adrian nodded. "Fine. If any of the bastards is rude—tell Marcus."

"Not you?" Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You tell me if any of the Arrows looks at you wrong," Adrian countered. "Next time, we'll have you sit in the boxes for the families."

"Next time?" Hermione blinked at him.

A boyish grin spread across Adrian's face. "We play each other at least once a season. So yeah, next time." His expression softened and he brushed her cheek with his knuckles in an echo of Marcus' earlier movement. "This… this was a big thing, love. Important to the both of us. Thank you."

"Of course," Hermione replied automatically.

Adrian stared at her for a moment and then his coach was screaming for him to move his arse. He yelled back and then turned back to Hermione.

"Stay here, where it's safe," he warned her again.

Hermione nodded. "I will," she promised.

Adrian gave her a small nod and then he hurried to join his team.


	12. TheoNeville

_A/N: This was a tumblr request, too. From more than one person, I think. Colubrina, dealer of ships, has created demand for Theo/Neville with Rebuilding (here on FFN) and No One Minds (Tumblr exclusive). I know that, despite this, Theo/Neville is still a pretty rare pair—so here you go._

/\/\/\/\/\

Dating an Auror was almost as bad as dating a Healer; erratic hours and double shifts made both irritable and sleepy when they finally got any time with their respective boyfriends or girlfriends. Theo knew all of that before he'd ever said yes to Neville's awkward attempts at asking him out. Valentine's day had actually been the day before, but Neville had ended up working double shifts and was about to come off of them.

"Nott," Auror Weasley acknowledged him with a nod and a scowl. "What do you want?"

"Neville's being debriefed, is he not?" Theo countered with an arched brow and a cool smile.

"Theo, what are you doing up at this hour?" Draco asked as he walked over to stand next to Weasley.

"He's here for Neville," Weasley muttered to Draco.

The idea of Draco Malfoy sullying his hands with the gritty, sometimes bloody, work of an Auror ought to have been laughable. Before the war, Lucius Malfoy would have thrown a fit at the thought of his only son and heir being risked like that. There would have been substantial bribes for the Ministry to politely turn Draco down if he wouldn't see reason. After the war, Lucius and Narcissa had unhappily accepted Draco's decision, and had hoped that somehow this might help their family's reputation.

It had helped, a little.

"Are those flowers?" Draco asked with a smirk.

Theo glared at Draco. "It's called Tears of Gilead. Neville hasn't got one yet."

"But they're flowers." Draco's smirk widened. "Does this make Longbottom the girl?"

"The what?" Ron huffed with a scowl.

"It makes him a bloody herbologist," Theo growled at Draco, leaning close so that he wouldn't have to yell in the middle of the Auror department. "He likes plants. He's _always_ liked plants. I always bring him plants because they make him bloody happy. It has nothing to do with which cock goes where, you bloody arse."

"Are those for Nev?" Auror Potter asked as he ambled over to them. He looked over the plant and then flashed a smile at Theo. "He'll like that one—I don't think he's got anything like that yet."

Theo shot Draco a dark glare.

"It was a joke, Theo, Merlin!" Draco protested.

Theo's shoulders slumped. He knew better, really he did. Draco had never been an arse about any of Theo's past boyfriends. It was... sometimes Theo just got _tired_ of people he barely knew—magazine and newspaper journalists—asking him or Neville who was 'the girl' in their relationship. It was an asinine way to ask which one of them took it up the bum, which was no one's bloody business unless their name happened to be Theo or Neville. It made his wand hand twitchy.

"Theo! Is that for me?"

That voice made it all worthwhile. Theo turned and a bright, happy smile split Neville's tired face. There was what appeared to be a bruise on Neville's left cheek, and blood on Neville's right temple, but aside from that he appeared fine. Theo sighed in relief. He held out the plant.

"It's called Tears of Gilead," Theo explained.

Neville's face lit up. "Yeah? That's supposed to be very rare. Thank you, love."

Without any warning, Theo was pulled against Neville's strong, lean body and snogged until he was breathless.

"Neville," Theo protested, blushing. He glanced around, but the other Aurors had melted away.

"Let's go home, love," Neville said quietly. "I'll show you how much I love my new plant."

"You're exhausted," Theo pointed out. "You've been up for 24 hours."

"Yeah," Neville agreed. He muffled a yawn. "Maybe sleep first. Then I'll shag you rotten."

After a double shift, Neville was usually dead to the world for at least 8 hours. When he woke he'd be starving. At some point, he would remember he had a boyfriend, and then he'd hunt down Theo and press him against the nearest flat surface. It worked for them.

Theo snorted in amusement. "Let's get you home."

Neville wrapped an arm around Theo and buried his face in Theo's neck. "Home," he mumbled against Theo's skin. Then he pulled back and gave him a lopsided grin. "Sounds good. Let's go."


	13. LunaHermione

_A/N: This was a tumblr request from someone who said this was their secret ship. You know who you are. Also, a Happy Birthday to SilverMarkings who wanted a story about someone struggling to decide if they liked someone or not. Oddly enough... I actually had this ready to go, which is beyond weird. I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations.  
_

 _I have mad respect for all of the people who have always known exactly who they are and what they want. You are lucky to be so self-assured and self-confident._

 _Many of my friends never had that gift, so I give them this one instead. This gift is for those of us who had to struggle and rage and fight to make their pieces fit. This is for those of us who took long, painful years to realize who and what they were. For the butterflies and the dragonflies and all the rest of us who had to take a journey to find themselves._

/\/\/\/\/\

It began at Shell Cottage. Harry and Ron were so focused on the next step and the next Horcrux, but Hermione was just trying to stop shaking and twitching with the after-effects of the Cruciatus. She woke, panting and gasping, from another nightmare to find Luna leaning over her, her hair a pale curtain around the two of them, carefully wiping off her brow.

"Luna?" Hermione croaked and then winced because even talking hurt at the moment.

"It's okay, Hermione," Luna said gently. She kept wiping at Hermione's face with a cool cloth that smelt vaguely of lavender. "You are at Shell Cottage with Harry and Ron. You're safe."

"And you," Hermione rasped.

Luna paused and peered at Hermione's face. She smiled hesitantly and nodded.

"And me," she agreed. She tilted her head slightly. "I'm safe, too."

Hermione nodded and then her eyelids fluttered shut.

Every time she opened her eyes, Luna was there with her pale fingers gently touching Hermione's cheek or holding her hand.

/\/\/\/\/\

"Ron and I are trying to make a go of it," Hermione told Ginny. She very carefully did not look at Luna who was sitting next to Ginny.

"I hope that you find happiness," Luna said solemnly.

When Hermione turned to look at her, there was no recrimination in Luna's eyes; no anger, no sadness, no disappointment. That almost made it worse than if Luna had screamed at her and thrown things.

It didn't help that, when her birthday came, Ron completely forgot and went to a Cannons game with his mates, but Luna sent her a card and a piece of green-bottle glass that had been worn smooth by the sea.

Breaking up with Ron—turning her back on what everyone expected Hermione to do—was terrifying. It felt a lot like failing. She couldn't be who, or what, they wanted her to be, and Hermione couldn't help but feel that she was at fault somehow. Maybe if she had tried harder, or if she did something else, she could become what they wanted... what Ron wanted.

/\/\/\/\/\

The urge to scream and throw things came later. Things were awkward and painful with Ron, and Hermione knew that either one or the other of them was going to end it soon. They still went to Harry's birthday party together because it was Harry. The two of them were willing to do anything for Harry.

Luna brought someone.

No one knew who the pretty brunette witch was, but she made Luna smile and they all seemed to think that was all that mattered. Hermione hated her—the no-name witch. Hermione stood with clenched fists and watched her hold Luna's hand and whisper in Luna's ear and she wanted to punch the other witch.

"All right, Hermione?" Ron asked with a worried frown.

"No," Hermione hissed angrily.

Ron frowned and moved so that he could see where Hermione was looking.

"Is this about Luna?" He asked in surprise.

Hermione choked and her face turned red. She caught her breath and shook her head.

"No, of course not, don't be silly," Hermione babbled anxiously.

"Hermione... you don't have a problem with Luna dating witches, do you?" Ron's frown had grown deeper.

 _Merlin's beard_. _He knows_.

"It's none of my business who Luna dates," Hermione replied stiffly.

"Right. Look, Hermione, I think we both know that our relationship isn't doing well, and I hadn't wanted to say or do anything to spoil Harry's party, but I can't date someone who has a problem with lesbians, gays, or queer folk in general," Ron told her in a solemn, stern voice, disappointment shining in his eyes.

Hermione stared at him in shock. "I beg your pardon?" She whispered.

"I knew you had your little issues," Ron continued and grimaced at her. "Merlin knows I've got my own, and I tried to overlook them, but I can't do that for this. I can't be with anyone who is a bigot."

"I...," Hermione paused. What could she say?

 _No worries, Ron_. _I think I might be a lesbian and I've been forcing myself to date you so that I didn't disappoint anyone_. _I'm actually so jealous of that stupid bint that's hanging off of Luna that I want to go claw her eyes out_.

"I respect your position, Ron," Hermione said carefully. "I'm going to go wish Harry a 'Happy Birthday', and then I think I'll leave."

Ron nodded. "I think that might be for the best."

/\/\/\/\/\

A brief, highly-regrettable relationship with Daphne Greengrass confirmed a few things. Hermione liked women—she liked the feel of their skin against hers and sound of their voices crying out in pleasure and the taste of them on her tongue. She felt comfortable. Secure. But there was still something missing. Hermione tried to ignore it, but the steady, throbbing ache was a like a sore tooth—it refused to be ignored.

"Why didn't you just say something?" Ron had demanded after he's stormed into her office at work.

Hermione watched as he paced back and forth waving his hands in the air.

"I feel like an arse," Ron snapped at her. "You stood there and let me yell at you and call you a bigot when really...," here Ron paused and stared at her as though he couldn't quite believe what he was about to say. "You were jealous?"

"I...," Hermione covered her face with her hands.

Ron gently pulled her hands down and just looked at her. "Hermione," he sighed. "Come here, love."

Crying in Ron's arms was cathartic. She cried for what they might have been—if she were different. She cried for the time she'd wasted trying to be who she was not. Ron rubbed her back in soothing, slow circles. When she was done she pulled back to stare at him.

"Why are you doing this?" She asked in a miserable, tear-clogged voice.

Ron shook his head at her. "You're my friend, you git. Maybe we don't work the way everyone thought we should, but we've always been friends."

"I think that's the most emotionally mature thing I've ever heard you say," Hermione said with a sniffle.

"I've grown up a lot, you know," Ron huffed at her. Then he rolled his eyes and gave her a sheepish grin. "And Ginny helped a bit. She's the one that figured out that you were jealous."

"How did you know?" Hermione asked with a frown.

"Gossip. A gaggle of witches was in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and the hot topic of the day was how you broke poor Daphne Greengrass' heart when you callously dumped her," Ron explained with a shrug.

"I did not callously dump her," Hermione cried. "We only dated for a few weeks."

"I'm just passing along what I overheard," Ron said.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Hermione muttered.

/\/\/\/\/\

A few nights later, Luna was sitting on her doorstep with her arms wrapped around her knees. Hermione stopped and watched her for a moment. Luna was resting her head on her knees and she was looking the other way. If Hermione didn't know better, she would have assumed it was a little girl sitting on her steps, but those pale, tangled curls were unmistakable. Her heart pounding in her chest, Hermione moved forward.

"Luna?"

Luna lifted her head and turned to look at Hermione with those large, silver eyes of hers.

"You're ready now." It wasn't quite a question, but it was very much Luna.

Laughter bubbled up and out of Hermione. She moved closer and traced the curve of Luna's cheek with her hand.

"I think so. Yes. I'm ready," Hermione said when Luna continued to watch her.

"Good. I was tired of waiting." There was no condemnation or anger or frustration. Just a simple statement of fact.

"I'm sorry I made you wait," Hermione apologized. She rubbed at her temple with her other hand. "I think... I think I had to figure it out by myself first."

"I know." Luna stood up and took Hermione's hand. "But from now on, we figure it out together."

"That sounds perfect," Hermione whispered.


	14. SusanGabrielle

_A/N: One of the main problems with the Harry Potter books is that everything we know is what Harry knows. Unfortunately, that means that there are a) huge gaps in our knowledge of the wizarding world, and b) we know things that no one else knows because Harry was a witness._

 _Harry knew Fleur Delacour better than anyone else at Hogwarts because they were fellow Hogwarts champions. Most of the rest of the students didn't know her at all. All of their attention would have been on their own school champion(s) and the huge kerfuffle going on there. I would go so far as to say that all of Hufflepuff was rather more concerned with Cedric than anything else._

 _Also... this gift is meant to represent 'dislike at first sight' and 'second chances'. There is a huge belief in basing your opinion of someone on the first impression you receive upon meeting them for 30 seconds. Never mind if that person has had a bad day, or you don't even know the full story behind why they say or do something. 30 seconds isn't really long enough to *know* someone._

 _A HUGE thank you to Nexie who helped me figure out how to make this work and even acted out some dialogue with me in messaging. (Note: This is my creative process... Nexie and Lisa will make up ridiculous dialogue, and I'll make some smart remark back and before you know it... a story.)_

/\/\/\/\/\

 _French Ministry of Magic_

 _26th August 2005_

The current inter-committee meeting had dragged on for so long that Susan struggled to stay awake. She let her gaze drift over the other members. At the end of the table sat a witch who appeared to be about the same age as Susan. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into smooth, sleek bun-thing that Susan couldn't have accomplished in a million years. The witch was classically beautiful with her high cheekbones and dramatic jawline. There was something strangely familiar about the witch, and Susan wondered if she knew her.

 _I didn't shag her, did I_?

There had been one or two one-night stands that Susan had regretted the next day, but that was several years ago now. Perhaps she and the blonde witch had crossed paths somewhere here at the Ministry? The enigma of the blonde witch troubled her until Susan was distracted by the long, elegant fingers tapping her quill restlessly against her parchment. She looked up at the witch's face to see that the blonde was glaring... at her.

Embarrassed to have been caught staring, Susan glanced down and shuffled the papers on the table in front of her. When the meeting finally let out—the blonde witch lingered behind. Susan could feel her palms grow moist and she rubbed them on her robes.

"You are the British _liaison_ , no?" The witch demanded coolly in accented English. At Susan's hesitant nod, her eyes narrowed and she looked Susan up and down contemptuously. "You have a problem with Veela?"

Susan frowned. "No, of course not," she protested.

The blonde witch's face twisted into a grimace, which Susan noticed with disgust did nothing to detract from her cool beauty.

"Ah," the blonde sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. " _Oui_ , I am the younger, less attractive sister of Fleur Delacour."

"Who?" Susan asked.

The blonde witch's lip curled. "Fleur was the Beauxbatons champion at the Triwizard Tournament. It was held at _your_ school, no?"

Susan frowned at the blonde witch.

"You mean that cold, stuck-up witch that competed against our Cedric—who tied with Harry Potter as winner," Susan shot back angrily.

Hufflepuff House had never forgotten Cedric Diggory, and they honoured him as co-winner of the Triwizard Tournament. Harry Potter's testimony to Cedric's sense of fair play and dedication had meant more to Hufflepuff than he had ever known.

"That cold, stuck-up witch is my _sister_ , you... you... _salope grossier_ ," the blonde witch snarled before she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.

 _I definitely didn't shag her_.

Susan averted her eyes from the sway of the witch's perfectly round bum as she left.

 _Oh… bugger_.

/\/\/\/\/\

The second time that Susan saw the blonde witch was months later when they had been assigned to work on a project together by their respective superiors. Susan had been in a hurry that morning, and had thrown her hair into a plait to get it out of her way. After spilling her pumpkin juice down her front, she had pulled out a set of severe, black robes that did nothing to flatter her.

"You're looking a bit frazzled, dearie," her mirror said with a sigh.

"Really?" Susan huffed indignantly. She tugged on her robes in an attempt to straighten them. "I had no idea. Unfortunately, I'm already late for work. I don't have time to try clothes on all morning."

"Well," the mirror gasped. "Do whatever you wish then."

Muttering under her breath, Susan raced through the halls at the Ministry of Magic. As Susan turned sharply around a corner, she collided with a soft, warm body. Susan went sprawling, her papers whirling about her in a flurry. Cursing, she struggled to her knees and began snatching at her papers.

" _Excusez-moi_ ," a familiar voice snapped. "I am sorry for knocking you down in the hall, _mademoiselle_. Here, let me help you up. Are you well? You have taken no hurt?"

Susan paused to sit back on her heels and glare at the blonde witch. Pinned to the blonde witch's collar was a little gold badger. Susan blinked in surprise. Why was the witch wearing a badger pin? What did it mean?

"Delacroix, wasn't it?" Susan said as calmly as she could. The blonde witch _growled_ at her.

"It is Delacour, as I have already told you! Was your cradle rocked too close to the wall?" She put her hands on her hips and glared at Susan.

"Mlle Delacour," Susan bit out carefully. "Could I please have the papers that you are standing on?"

The afternoon was spent in stiffly polite exchanges interspersed with heavy silences.

"Are we agreed, Mlle Delacour?" Susan asked politely.

" _Oui_ , Mlle Bones" Delacour replied.

"Then let us inform our superiors," Susan suggested.

"I think so," Delacour agreed with a nod.

The witches pulled out their wands and each cast her _Patronus_. Susan's patronus was a sort of bird that appeared to be vaguely swan-like, which had caused no small amount of rumours about her and Cho Chang. Her patronus fluffed its wings and looked up at her, waiting for instruction. Susan glanced over at Delacour and her jaw dropped open.

A silvery badger was rubbing its head against Delacour's ankle.

"What is that?" Delacour demanded and pointed a shaking finger at Susan's patronus.

"Some call it a swan," Susan explained with a sigh. "But the truth is that I'm not certain what it is."

Delacour muttered something that Susan didn't understand. Then she shook her head and spoke slowly and carefully in English—enunciating clearly.

"It is _vili_ animal form. You would say Veela," Delacour said.

Susan frowned down at her not-swan. "It doesn't look anything like the Bulgarian team's mascots. It doesn't breathe fire… does it?"

"No, of course not," Delacour protested. She paused and frowned at Susan. "Why do you have a _vili_ as your patronus?

Susan shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea. Why do you have a badger as yours?"

Delacour blinked. "The badger is important to you?"

"I was a Hufflepuff… at Hogwarts, I mean. That was my House. Our mascot is a badger," Susan babbled.

Several long minutes stretched between them.

"Perhaps… you should call me Gabrielle," Delacour said slowly.

"Only if you will call me Susan," she countered.

Delacour nodded. "Susan."

/\/\/\/\/\

The third time that Susan saw Gabrielle Delacour was followed swiftly by the fourth and the fifth.

"You are not who I thought you were," Gabrielle said one day over wine at a local café.

Susan laughed. "I can be a _salope grossier_ if the situation warrants it," she promised.

"If your family were threatened," Gabrielle guessed.

Before the words had completely left her mouth, Gabrielle knew that she had said the wrong thing. Susan had gone completely still and her eyes had gone flat and hard. She automatically reached out to take Susan's hand, but Susan had pulled away.

"I don't have family," Susan said so softly that Gabrielle had to strain to hear her.

 _Stupid!_ How could she have been so stupid? She had heard about the war in fits and starts from Fleur and her sister's in-laws. Gabrielle had known, on some level that a lot of families had lost people.

"I'm sorry, that was thoughtless of me," Gabrielle whispered.

Susan shook her head. "No."

"I would bet that you protected your friends," Gabrielle mused aloud. "And maybe that House you are so proud of—your Hufflepuffs."

"I did the best I could," Susan agreed.

There was a sad, lost expression on Susan's face that Gabrielle _hated_. Susan should never look so broken. She should be passionate and fierce and determined. She should be a champion for justice and fair-play. Gabrielle should have to pester her to go home and get some sleep. Filled with the urgent need to do something, anything, Gabrielle jumped up and went around the table. She took Susan's face in her hands and kissed her.

The slide of Susan's lips against hers was something that Gabrielle had thought about for weeks. Then Susan began to kiss her back, and Gabrielle lost herself in the taste and smell and feel of the other witch. When they parted, Susan was staring at her with a dazed expression.

"You," Susan whispered. "I would fight to protect you."

Gabrielle smiled. "I would fight to protect you as well."

 ** _A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! You get semi-fluff today (or flangst according to Nexie). Tomorrow... I think it might be bad for some of you. Ugly crying and maybe some 'Dear god, WHY?'._**


	15. JamesSirius

_A/N: This is a painful sort of gift. Bisexuality is often treated as though it is a mystical, magical sexual orientation that doesn't_ really _exist. Not the way that true, valid sexual orientations exist. Bisexual people are greedy, inconsistent, selfish, etc. The worst part is that the people spewing this garbage are often members of the LBGTQ community. So this is for the gnomes._

 _In this AU, James is bisexual and Sirius is gay._

/\/\/\/\/\

"Just answer me one question James," Sirius snarled, his face twisted in anger. "Did you ever really love me, or was I just a place holder until you could have what you really wanted?"

"Don't be an idiot," James protested. "Of course I love you—you great git!"

"But not enough," Sirius taunted him, bitterness creeping into every word. "Not as much as you love _her_."

Guilt and grief weighed James down and he let his shoulders slump.

"That isn't the point, Sirius," James reminded him. "I have to marry and conceive an heir. You know that."

"Tell your family to fuck off," Sirius growled. "I did."

The words hung heavy between them, and James shook his head slowly.

"Do you really want me to do that? Do you want me to go to my mum and dad and tell them that I'm letting the Potter line die out? Are you going to come with me and tell them that we just don't give a shit about our responsibilities and duties?" James asked solemnly.

"Don't you dare make this about your line," Sirius bellowed his hands fisted at his sides and the vein in his neck throbbing.

"Of course it's about my line," James countered, his own voice rising to match Sirius'.

"No, no, no! You're marrying her because you love her. Admit it, James. Admit that you love her," Sirius hissed.

"I do love her," James confessed quietly. He shook his head. "But you've known that for years, Padfoot. I was never quiet about it. I never lied about it."

"No, you didn't," Sirius agreed. He paused and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I asked you if you were willing to do a triad marriage when we were 5th years," James sighed.

"I don't like girls," Sirius protested. "Not that way—not like that."

"You wouldn't have to consummate it with her if you didn't want to, Sirius, but you already know that. You knew this was coming. You've known it for years." James ran an anxious hand through his hair.

"She didn't want you," Sirius explained. He shook his head and rubbed the heel of his hand over his face. "She couldn't stand you. I thought... I thought maybe you would get over it."

"I'm sorry." James cleared his throat. "I can't be what you want me to be, Sirius, and... I'm so sorry. You'll never know how much."

"Why can't we just continue after you marry her," Sirius asked in a small, forlorn voice. "I won't have to see her so I won't care, and you can come to my apartment a couple times a week. She'd never have to know."

"No. I can't do that to her, Sirius. She deserves better than that," James protested.

" _Why_? Why does _she_ deserve better? What do _I_ deserve?" Sirius' voice cracked and tears began to stream down his cheeks.

James' breath caught in his throat and he longed to go to Sirius and hold him, but if he did that he would give in, and he couldn't do that. He wouldn't.

"You deserve everything," James swore in a voice thick with tears. "You deserve someone who loves you unreservedly; someone who can give you everything and hold nothing back. You deserve to be treated with love and respect and care. I can't give you any of those things, Sirius."

"Because you're already giving all those things to _her_ ," Sirius sneered.

James shook his head. "I give everything to my House and my line's future. She'll help me achieve that."

"Lucky her," Sirius muttered.

"Not really," James managed to choke out. He cleared his throat again and rubbed his sleeve over his eyes. "Because no matter how much I love her, or how long—there will always be a part of me that loves you, Padfoot."

"So all three of us are screwed," Sirius concluded.

James snorted and shook his head. "I guess so, yeah."

"I hate her so much right now," Sirius confessed. He turned away so that his back was to James. "I kind of hate you, too," he added softly.

Even though James expected no less, it hurt to hear Sirius say it out loud. His chest felt as though it were constricting and he struggled to breathe.

"You have every right to hate me," James acknowledged and he had to blink away tears.

This moment had been coming for months, and James had known it would be bad—that it would be unbelievably awful—but he hadn't known that it would be like _this_. He could see how much this was hurting Sirius, and it killed him inside.

Throwing away everything had occurred to James. Merlin knew that his parents would never disown him like Sirius' family had. Still... the disappointment would be there; the look in his mum's and dad's eyes when they realized that he cared more about himself than his House. James would never do that to them. He wouldn't do that to his House.

"So this is it then?" Sirius demanded roughly.

"I... yeah," James agreed.

"Great. Fine. Thanks a fucking lot, Prongs." Sirius threw over his shoulder as he turned and headed to the door.

"I'm sorry," James called after him.

Sirius stopped and turned back to look at James. His grey eyes were bloodshot and he looked tired.

"Yeah. Me too."

Then he turned and left.


	16. DracoAstoria

_A/N: There are a couple different kinds of love here—familial and romantic. The Greek myth of Atalanta reveals a lot about how the Greek family worked. The husband had the absolute, final say over whether or not he wanted to claim a child that had been borne by his wife. If the child was in any way not physically perfect (and this covers a multitude of obvious, physical birth defects, but also was often done to girl children and/or twins) then the child(ren) would be 'exposed'. This usually meant left on a local mountaintop to die.  
_

 _Atalanta's myth has a sort-of 'happy ending', but the Greeks didn't really go in for that sort of nonsense._

/\/\/\/\/\

It had been made clear, over and over, that Mother and Father had wanted a son… an heir. Almost immediately, first Daphne and then Astoria had been handed over to House-elves. Occasionally, the girls were dressed in fancy robes, their hair prettily beribboned, and they were trotted out to display. They would curtsey gracefully and wait poised for further instructions.

"Such charming manners," people would coo.

Astoria was 10 years old before she saw the family dining room. Normally she took her meals in either the Nursery or in the kitchen with the House-elves. Those meals were always simple and hearty. The meals that she ate in the formal dining room were stiff with tension and the fear of committing a social faux-pas; she hated them.

"My Mother and Father want me to offer for you," Draco Malfoy announced at one of the tedious parties Astoria was required to attend.

"I won't hand my children over to House-elves," Astoria blurted out. Malfoy blinked at her in surprise, and she flushed in embarrassment. Astoria had worked so hard to be the perfect socialite—only to muck it up at the first opportunity. "I thought you should know beforehand."

When Malfoy had murmured something noncommittal and drifted away almost immediately, Astoria had been convinced she had blown her chance at the Malfoy heir. Her parents would never forgive her for this. She could probably look forward to being confined to her room for at least a month. At least the House-elves would make sure she was regularly fed.

"Darling, we're so proud of you," Mother trilled at her that night.

"You did well, Princess," Father added.

Daphne and Astoria had long theorized that Mother called them Darling and Father called them Princess because they couldn't actually remember their names. Astoria wasn't certain if she would be disappointed or not if she ever learned that their theory was true.

"I'm glad that you are pleased," Astoria murmured with a polite smile for the both of them.

"You will become Mrs. Draco Malfoy this summer," Mother continued. "June, I think."

/\/\/\/\/\

The hardest part about marrying Astoria Greengrass had been the unexpected things.

"Where on earth is your wife, Draco?" His father had demanded the first night they'd come back to the Manor after their honeymoon.

Mother's lips had pressed together into a thin line, and then she had turned to Draco. "Go check the kitchens," she told him. She paused for a moment as though considering her words carefully. "Make sure she knows that we expect her to eat with us every evening unless she isn't feeling well."

The surprise and pleasure on Astoria's face when Draco had repeated his mother's words had been telling, and Draco swore in that moment to make the witch happy.

When their second baby had been born a girl, Astoria had hidden herself in her rooms with their daughter. Draco had hunted his wife down himself—without any orders from his parents, but he did note that his mother and father had looked proud when he'd asked them to watch Scorpius for a minute.

"We don't care that she's a girl, you know," Draco had announced when he'd marched into his wife's sitting room. "We're happy that she's alive and healthy. That doesn't happen often in our family, you know."

Astoria had clutched the baby to her chest and stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. Draco sighed and got down on his knees in front of her. He put a gentle hand on the baby's head.

"Won't you let me see her?" He asked quietly, afraid to spook his wife further.

Mutely, Astoria held out the carefully wrapped bundle of baby. Draco took her in his arms and smiled down at the round cheeks and pursed lips of his daughter.

"She's beautiful, Astoria," Draco said softly. "She should have a name that suits her, don't you think?"

"Altais is a star in Draco," Astoria observed quietly.

"Is that a name that you actually like, or is it what you think I want to hear?" Draco asked. He looked up at his wife and waited.

"I've always liked Atalanta," Astoria admitted with a shy smile.

Draco grimaced. He was unsure if he should be proud that Astoria was willing to reveal that much of herself to him, or even more contemptuous of his in-laws than he already was. Astoria's face fell.

"You don't like it."

Draco gave her a weak smile. "I love it, Astoria, truly. How does Atalanta Carina Malfoy sound?"

"That sounds perfect," Astoria agreed.

A couple of months later, both young parents were exhausted. Atalanta woke up every four hours without fail, and during the day a rambunctious Scorpius took all of their attention. Draco accidentally walked into a wall on his way to breakfast.

"Just hire a House-elf, Draco," Lucius snapped when he sat down.

"Absolutely not," Draco replied automatically. He risked a glance at his wife, and was surprised to find her staring at him with something akin to adoration.

"I'm sure that Draco knows what is best for his family," Narcissa interjected.

"He looks like hell," Lucius protested.

"Would you please pass the marmalade, Astoria dear?" Narcissa asked with a polite smile.

Astoria passed the marmalade and discussed the state of the gardens and the peacocks with his mother. Draco ate his breakfast and wondered what he could do to make that look on Astoria's face a more permanent fixture.

"What would you like for Valentine's day?" Draco asked her a week later.

Blearily, Astoria turned to look at him. Her normally pretty face was puffy, and her hair was pulled back into a haphazard bun. Her eyes were bloodshot with dark circles under them. Draco thought she had never looked more beautiful.

"Sleep," Astoria replied after a moment. She gave him a dreamy smile. "8 hours of uninterrupted sleep sounds absolutely heavenly."

"Done," Draco promised.

Astoria eyed him doubtfully. "No House-elves."

"I promise," he swore to her. "No House-elves. What about my mother or father?"

"They call Scorpius and Atalanta by their names," Astoria observed. She nodded. "Yes. Narcissa and Lucius can help you."

Immediately, Draco was overcome with hatred for his wife's parents. He remembered the way that Narcissa had held Atalanta, and had looked right at Astoria and told her that Atalanta was a fine name for their daughter. Mother had never failed to call Atalanta anything _but_ her name. Only Scorpius was allowed to get away with calling his little sister Tally, which had confused Draco until he overheard his sister-in-law Daphne calling his wife 'Stori'.

/\/\/\/\/\

A blissful afternoon spent sleeping was just as lovely as Astoria had imagined it to be. She had wallowed in her bed, cuddling up to a pillow and sighing happily. She trusted Draco to keep his word and take care of their children for her.

It wasn't possible to know for certain without asking outright like some sort of gauche idiot, but Astoria suspected that her mother-in-law knew what Astoria's upbringing had been like all too well. Her doting on Draco made all the more sense if that were so. Narcissa had subtly supported Astoria from the moment she'd stepped into Malfoy Manor, and Astoria had never forgotten or dismissed that courtesy. Narcissa Malfoy had held the power to make Astoria's life miserable, but she hadn't used it.

Stretching leisurely, Astoria had smiled at her canopy and then crawled out of her bed. She took a long bubble bath and scrubbed herself until her skin turned pink. Then she put on her dressing robe and went to sit in front of her vanity mirror. She looked much better than she had in weeks. She hummed to herself as she brushed out her long, blonde hair before she picked up her wand and charmed her hair into an elegant, sleek chignon.

"Mummy!"

Only Scorpius could bellow like that. A small, muddy creature came running into her room on chubby little legs.

"Scorpius?" Astoria asked, completely gobsmacked.

"Mummy," Scorpius called joyfully before he launched himself at her.

Automatically, Astoria caught her son and hugged him to her chest. She looked up as a sheepish Draco followed Scorpius into the room, holding their daughter in his arms. Draco had a smear of mud on one cheek, and Astoria thought that he had never looked more handsome.

"Did you have fun?" She asked curiously.

Draco grinned at her. "Yeah, we did."

"Where did all the mud come from?" Astoria asked.

"Stanton Park," he explained. "Mother suggested it."

"Please thank Narcissa for me," Astoria murmured as she brushed Scorpius' hair back from his muddy forehead.

"I will," Draco promised.

There was something about Draco's voice that made Astoria look up and her breath caught in her throat. The look in his eyes was one that she had occasionally seen Lucius give Narcissa—a look that she had never expected to see directed her way.

"And perhaps we could all go together next weekend," she suggested softly.

"That would be brilliant," Draco agreed with a smile.

 _A/N: The premise of 'new parents with more than one child' was suggested by Lisa. I admit to a certain sadistic glee in choosing Draco and Astoria. The idea of two perfectly coiffed upper-crust types being totally undone by a toddler and a baby amused me to no end._


	17. BillFleur

_A/N: The White Leopard requested Bill/Fleur. I've always liked them as a couple, and I really loved the fact that Fleur stood up to Molly after Bill was attacked by Fenrir Greyback. We know that Fleur doesn't give a damn about what Bill looks like—she loves him regardless. I thought that it would be nice if Bill returned the favour._

/\/\/\/\/\

Not every wizard was able to work for Gringotts. The goblins were demanding and exacting. There were whole businesses geared toward helping a prospective wizard or witch pass the grueling Gringotts entrance exam. Bill hadn't needed any help, and for that he had been grateful. Straight out of Hogwarts, he wouldn't have been able to afford the astronomically-high fees those businesses charged.

It had taken him time to earn a good reputation with the goblins, and to prove himself to them. He'd managed to get a solid 5 years in, almost 6 years, when he'd needed to cash in on that reputation. He had requested a transfer to the Diagon Alley branch 'for family reasons', and the goblins had approved it almost immediately.

Training new hires hadn't exactly been what Bill had in mind, but it was better than some of the other options available—so he had jumped on it. The small group of witches and wizards that had managed to pass the entrance exam, the interview process, and had actually been hired were the cream of the wizarding crop. They were all intelligent, talented, and able to think on their feet.

"Welcome to Gringotts," Bill said when the last new-hire had straggled to their seat, face pink with embarrassment. "You made it."

Nervous tittering laughter broke out among the trainees. Bill grinned at them.

"The good news is that you are the best, the brightest, that the wizarding world has to offer," Bill told them in a warm, friendly voice.

The new-hires sat up straight at that, and a couple of them looked smug. Bill sighed inwardly. Best to nip that in the bud before it became a liability.

"The bad news is that so are the rest of us," he reminded them drily. "And we all have years of experience working with magic from all over the world, so our knowledge base is broader and more varied that you can hope to dream of, at the moment."

The new-hires deflated slightly.

"When you're paired with your mentor—for Merlin's sake listen to them! Yes, your NEWT scores are impressive. Good for you. So were mine. So were your mentors. You don't get to be a Cursebreaker for long if you aren't smart, quick to learn, and quick to adapt. Take your mentors lead. You can ask questions later over a pint. They'll be happy to explain why they did what they did once the curse is broken. They can even tell you what would have happened if they did it the way you wanted," Bill explained solemnly trying to make eye contact with each trainee.

They all stared back at him, wide-eyed and a little fearful. Good. Maybe this lot would do better than most new-hire groups. The survival rate was usually about 50-60%, depending on the stubbornness of the individual witch or wizard. If he could do 60-70% the goblins would be thrilled with him.

"Now, we've got students from Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and Hogwarts among you," Bill continued. "So let's go over some basic protective shields and warding from each school so that all of you can see the differences between them. Then I'll teach you Gringotts protective shields and warding, and you will each write me 3 feet of parchment explaining the differences in magical theory between Gringotts and the school-taught shielding and warding, and how this might affect practical applications."

The new-hires might have groaned, but they were too smart to do so. Bill gave them what the Cursebreakers' called a goblin grin, showing all of his teeth. Several of the trainees swallowed anxiously—probably wondering what they had gotten themselves into, and was it too late to back out of their contracts.

At the end of the day, they picked up their books and practically fled the room. Bill sighed and turned to his chalkboard to wipe it clean.

"Excuse me, Cursebreaker Weasley?" A musical, accented voice asked politely.

Bill turned around. It was one of the trainees. Fleur Delacour, a beautiful blonde witch from Beauxbatons. She'd been the Beauxbatons Champion at the Triwizard Tournament, which had helped her application to Gringotts immensely. He nodded politely at her.

"Yes, Trainee Delacour?" He asked politely.

"I was wondering if you would be willing to give me English lessons," she explained, a light flush on her cheeks. "I had that my English was adequate, but after today… I am afraid that this is not so."

"English lessons?" Bill repeated in surprise. He stood there for a moment, holding the thick chalkboard eraser and staring at her.

"Yes, to help me understand the classes better," Delacour said.

"Sure," Bill replied with a shrug. "I've got free time on Saturday afternoons."

Delacour nodded almost immediately. "This works for me, as well," she agreed.

"We can meet here," Bill told her. "No one uses the classrooms on the weekends."

"I will be here," Delacour promised him.

The month-long orientation period flew by, and then the year-long mentoring period began. The mentors all came and thanked Bill personally at different times for 'putting the fear of Merlin' into all the trainees. The survival rate for this group was, so far, 75% and the goblins were ecstatic.

Another Saturday passed by, and with it another English lesson with Fleur Delacour. At first, Bill had dismissed the French beauty. He had experience with the sorts of witches who traded on their beauty, and didn't use the brains they'd been given, and he had no use for anyone like that in his personal life.

Delacour surprised him. Her mind was so quick and adaptive that he had to focus to keep up with her. It had been a while since he'd met _anyone_ that could challenge him intellectually, and he didn't mind at all that it was someone as pretty as Delacour. In fact, he was half-convinced that her brain was far more beautiful than her face would ever be.

"Thank you," she told him one day.

"For what?" He had asked in surprise.

"You treat me like a person. Like someone who has thoughts and feelings. Most just see my face and treat me like…," she muttered something under her breath in French that Bill couldn't understand. She shook her head. "Thank you."

"Your brain is the prettiest thing about you," Bill blurted out. He closed his eyes and let his head drop at that. He could feel his cheeks burning and cursed his pale Weasley skin. When he finally opened his eyes and raised his head, he found that Fleur Delacour was staring at him with tear trembling on her lashes.

"Do you mean that?" She demanded. Her voice cracked. "This is not… how you say… this is not a line?"

Bill shrugged awkwardly. "I… yeah. Your mind is… it's intimidating sometimes. Your brain is incredible."

Her lower lip quivered. "I think…"

And then she kissed him. It was a fleeting touch of her lips to his and then she was backing away from him and putting her fingers to her lips.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I should not have done that."

"Did you want to?" He asked her.

Her cheeks turned pink and she nodded. "For weeks," she admitted.

Bill smirked at her. "Then you won't object to this, then."

He moved toward her, watching her face carefully. The pink grew darker and she gave him a shy smile and a nod. He grinned and leaned forward to press his lips to hers. She sighed and pressed herself against him, moulding herself to his body, her arms slipping about his neck.

"Not at all," she whispered against his cheek when they broke apart.


	18. Molly Weasley

_A/N: YamiNeko wanted to see Molly Weasley and some kind of motherly/maternal love. I struggle with Molly Weasley because it appears as though her love is, at time, smothering and/or conditional._

 _Bill and Charlie Weasley both left the country for their work, and Percy and the twins both moved out as soon as possible. It is entirely possible that she is so smothering with her affection because she had lost her entire family, but JKR never really goes into that._

 _Then there's the matter of Harry and Hermione. She is motherly to the both of them at times, but at other times she is cold or cuts them completely e.g. Hermione at the Triwizard Tournament._

 _Her temper is almost infamous, and I think we all cringed along with Harry and Ron at the Howler that Ron received in their 2_ _nd_ _year. I think that in the 5th, 6_ _th_ _, and 7_ _th_ _years we see just how much Molly really does love her children. Her grief over the estrangement with Percy is palpable, and I wonder if she didn't lose her temper and regretted the things she'd said to Percy. She does take out Bellatrix to protect Ginny. Her grief over Fred's death is something that all of us share—although I think most of us feel George's pain more than hers._

 _So this gift is about maternal love, but more about the struggle to find the right balance. Being a parent is an enormous responsibility, and none of us are perfect. We get tired, we get irritable, we lose our temper. Later, we beat ourselves up over it and guilt ourselves into thinking each of us is the 'worst mother ever'. I, personally, have always found it to be a great comfort that I've never publicly humiliated any of my children in front of their entire school with a Howler. Sometimes it's good to take a step back and count to ten before we do or say something that might come back to haunt us._

 _This is possibly the longest A/N I've ever done…_

 _Also, this ended up very AU, EWE, et cetera. (As per normal, with me.)_

 _I hope YamiNeko doesn't hate this with a fiery passion._

/\/\/\/\/\

In quiet moments of self-reflection, Molly was willing to admit that she was not the easiest woman in the world with which to get along. She had the Prewett temper, which, regrettably, she had passed along to more than one child. She was quick to judgment and slow to change her mind. When she was younger her mother had thrown up her hands and told her that 'holding a grudge is nothing to be proud of, Mary Aconia Prewett'.

"I want to thank you for agreeing to meet me," Molly said with a nervous smile.

The witch sitting across from her smiled coolly and picked up her cup of tea, taking a delicate sip. Pansy Potter had grown into a regal-looking young witch. Her perfectly manicured nails clicked against the cup as she set it down in its saucer. Pansy pursed her lips and looked Molly over.

"Why did you ask to meet me?" Pansy asked curiously. "Surely you don't want to be seen in public with… what was it you called me again? Ah, yes, that jumped-up Slytherin tart that wanted poor Harry to clean up her tawdry reputation."

Molly grimaced and her cheeks flushed. "I am sorry for that," she admitted.

"I would imagine you're more sorry that the Saviour of the Wizarding World has, quite publicly, cut all ties to your family," Pansy retorted with a bland smile.

"Not really," Molly countered with a shake of her head. "I'm more sorry that I've lost Harry. And… I'm sorry to have missed out on knowing you, and your children."

Pansy stared at her blankly. "Really? Even after all these years?" She drawled. "What about Hermione? Are you sad that you've cut her off, as well?"

Shame made Molly squirm in her seat. "I… yes, I am."

"And would you be willing to have Hermione and Theo over to dinner at the Burrow?" Pansy pressed.

"Of course," Molly protested. She sighed heavily. "Hermione is… if I didn't know better I would swear that she somehow had inherited the Prewett temper. She's as bad as I am about grudges, and I just assumed that… that she would refuse to see me."

Pansy leaned back in her chair. "Well then. Perhaps we can change that."

/\/\/\/\/\

That first dinner was so stilted and awkward that by the end of the night Molly needed to take a Headache potion and have a lie down. She was fairly certain that Arthur had tumbler of Fire Whiskey, but she didn't have the energy to complain. The entire time, Harry and Theodore Nott had hovered protectively over their wives and watched everyone with a wary eye. No children had been brought, and even though it hurt Molly understood why they didn't trust her enough to bring them.

After the third or maybe it was the fourth dinner, Harry and Theodore trusted them enough to risk joining a pick-up game of Quidditch in the yard with the rest of Molly's children… the ones that were at the Burrow, anyway. Hermione sat stiffly in the parlour, playing with the cuffs of her robes.

"You have two children… is that right?" Molly asked carefully.

It hurt something in her soul that she didn't even know how many children Hermione had—that she had let it get to this point. When had she first started to think of Harry and Hermione as _hers_?

"Yes," Hermione replied. She glanced at Pansy before focusing on her lap again.

"Theseus and Thalassa," Pansy offered from her place. She examined her nails critically. "They're both absolutely adorable, but they're holy terrors. Don't be fooled by their angelic little faces."

Molly snorted in amusement. "I know that sort all too well. The… the twins used to get up to all sorts of shenanigans."

Silence filled the room and all three women avoided looking at one another.

"Why is this so hard?" Hermione asked suddenly, her voice cracking. She turned to glare at Molly. "You invited us into your home. We came almost every summer. I… I looked up to you. You were… were like my magical mum. And then you just… you disowned me."

"Hermione," Molly whispered.

But what could she say? Hermione was right—as she usually was. She had treated Hermione and Harry as foster children, and then she had broken that bond through her own willful temper.

"Harry cried," Hermione said.

They both knew what that meant. Harry very rarely cried about anything. The only time that Molly could ever recall was when Sirius had been taken by the Veil. Guilt flooded the older witch, pressing her under its weight.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Molly managed to choke out as tears slipped down her own cheeks. "I was… I let my temper get away from me. My mother was constantly warning me, and I never listened. I know that it's no excuse, and I know that I have no right to ask for anything at all, but I am so, so sorry."

At that, Hermione burst into tears. Great, racking sobs shook her small frame. Pansy stared at Hermione in horror and then turned to Molly with a pleading expression. Molly got to her feet so that she could go and comfort Hermione.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Theodore Nott snarled from the parlour doorway. He strode across the room and gathered his wife up, pulling her into his lap and patting her back—glaring at Molly all the while.

"Molly and Hermione were healing old wounds," Pansy explained quickly. "Molly just apologized and then Hermione burst into tears."

Theodore stared at Pansy as though he didn't quite believe her, and then he began to talk to his wife in low, soothing tones.

"It's all right, love," Theo murmured softly. "I'm here now."

"I'm sorry," Hermione sniffled once she got herself in check. "It's the damn hormones. They drive me crazy."

Theodore went still, his hand raised to pat her back. "I beg your pardon?"

"I hadn't had a chance to tell you yet," Hermione explained as she took the handkerchief that Harry held out. "We've both been busy, and I… I was going to tell you tonight."

"Wait… are you pregnant?" Pansy demanded. " _Again_?"

Hermione glared up at her friend. "What do you mean, again? You've got three of your own."

"Well, yes, but I thought you weren't going to have any more," Pansy protested.

"We changed our minds," Hermione informed her haughtily.

Then Harry was slapping Theo on the back and teasing him about starting a Quidditch team of his own, and Pansy was hugging Hermione and kissing her on each cheek. Molly's heart ached in her chest. The easy way that Harry and Hermione interacted with each other and their spouses reminded her sharply of how much she missed them. That night she bid each couple a safe journey home.

"What are you doing, Mollywobbles?" Arthur asked.

"Knitting booties, of course," Molly replied. "That baby's going to need booties."

"Of course," Arthur agreed.

/\/\/\/\/\

"Nana Weasley!" Lily Potter shrieked at the top of her 4 year-old lungs and raced to fling herself in Molly's already open arms.

"She gets that from your side of the family," Pansy muttered to Harry. "Flinging herself headlong into danger is such a Gryffindor thing to do. We need to nip that in the bud."

"Who is to say that she won't end up Sorted in Slytherin?" Harry protested. He mock-glared at his wife. "And what, exactly, is so awful about Gryffindor?"

Pansy rolled her eyes at him. "The number of times you nearly died as a child still gives me nightmares. If any of our children even _thinks_ of taking after you-," she paused and shuddered. "I'll make Hermione help me think of something."

"Are you really okay with this, love?" Harry asked worriedly. He slipped an arm about Pansy's waist and pulled her against him. "This isn't just for me?"

Pansy sighed and leaned against her husband. "The Weasleys are… they wouldn't be my first choice of family, that's for sure. Still, they mean a lot to you and to Hermione, and that's all that matters. If Hermione swore up and down that she loved Hagrid like an uncle then Theo would find some way to eat those dreadful rock cakes."

Harry turned his head and laughed into her hair. "You know, love, I've always looked on Hagrid like a second father… Ooof! Hey," he protested when Pansy elbowed him in the ribs.

"I am not eating rock cake," Pansy said flatly. "Not even for you."

Harry looked at her with sad eyes. "So what you're really saying is that Theo loves Hermione more than you love me?"

Pansy snorted derisively. "Obviously," she drawled.

By that time they had made it over to Lily who was excitedly telling Molly about everything she had done in the last week.

"And then, Mummy and Daddy tooked me and Jamie and Albie to the Children's Museum and we gotted to play with all the things!" Lily was babbling happily.

Molly blinked. "My goodness!" She murmured. She looked up at Harry for more information.

"It's a special museum for children," he explained. "They have interactive exhibits that are made so that the kids can play with them and learn from them."

"Oh." Molly nodded thoughtfully. "I wonder if some of the other children might like to go. Can… can anyone go there?"

"It's in Muggle London," Pansy explained. "It's a little unsettling the first time you go, but everyone else there is some kind of parent or guardian and they've all got at least one child with them—so that gives you something to talk about."

"You could come with us sometime, if you'd like," Harry offered after a moment.

The smile on Molly's face was so wide that it must have hurt her cheeks.

"I would love that, Harry. Thank you," she replied.


	19. Bellatrix Black Lestrange

_A/N: HiHelloGoodbye wanted something that showed how Bellatrix loved Voldemort. I think that most of us can agree that after Azkaban Bellatrix wasn't exactly stable. There's some debate as to whether or not she was stable beforehand. I have a hard time writing from a mentally ill perspective because my goal is stay true to the perspective and treat it with dignity and respect. It isn't a joke, a plot device, or a writing prop._

 _I think, instead, I tried to capture the fanatical devotion, which is a sort of love, but not one that I would encourage anyone to adopt for themselves. So this is Bellatrix, waxing lyrical about her Dark Lord. It is short, and I apologize, but I don't do fanatical devotion all that well. Consider it a character flaw._

/\/\/\/\/\

It is impossible to look back and say _there_ , _that was the point of no return_. It could be that I was lost from the moment I met him, or the moment he touched my hand and bowed over it, or the moment he looked up at me from beneath those long lashes and murmured my name.

No one understands how seductive power can be until it lies within their grasp; one has to taste power to truly ken its hold. We had all known power from the time that we were children. We understood its allure and its promise. When he spoke—we knew exactly what he was asking of us, and we were willing to do whatever he wanted us to do gladly.

The charm and charisma of my lord is something that must be seen. It is easy for one to scoff and say 'Oh, I would have done differently. I would have refused him.'

Would you really? When he has offered to save your world, and to make you first among wizards?

I could not, and I don't count it a failing. Our world was crumbling around us, decay and rot eating away at everything that made us great. My lord offered to change that—to cleanse us of our disease and make us fresh and whole again.

The darkest night of my life was the night he was taken from us. I could not believe it… I _would not_ believe it. That my lord could be vanquished was unthinkable. Preposterous! It was a trick. It had to be. My lord would never allow himself to be conquered.

The day that he released us from our confinement—our separation from his presence—was a day of unspeakable joy. I was able to be near my lord again. I needed nothing more than that. Nothing.

The fact that I gave everything for my lord, up to and including my life. Who could ask for more, but that they give what I have given? I am content, knowing that I, above everyone else, has served my lord more faithfully than any other could dream. I am his.


	20. LilyNarcissa

_A/N: I am so sorry about the lateness of this post. Due to circumstances beyond my control I had no access to a computer. This was a special request on tumblr from MoonNott. Unfortunately, the age difference between Lily and Narcissa means that Hogwarts was out of the question. Once Lily's out of Hogwarts, there is a tiny window before she's under Fidelius, and then murdered. I couldn't think of a way for Narcissa and Lily to interact under those conditions. So this is a severely AU, what if there was no Voldemort to worry about, sort of story._

 _This is the sort of relationship that many women were forced to have in previous generations, so this is a sort of a nod to them. To the people who were forced to hide who they were, and to the people who still are._

/\/\/\/\/\

Quidditch, ironically, had been the start of it all.

Saying 'I do' to James Potter had been expected, and so Lily had done it. She really had no place in the Muggle world, not anymore. She was a witch, and James Potter was a way for her to stay in the world that she had grown to love. It wasn't that she didn't love James. It was more that she wasn't sure if she could love anyone. She wondered sometimes if she were capable of that kind of love.

Once Harry entered her life, Lily knew that she could love… at least maternally. She adored her young son and she did everything she could to make sure that he had a proper wizarding upbringing. She consulted with her mother-in-law and signed Harry up for all of the right sorts of activities: dancing, piano, private tutors, and Quidditch.

"Quidditch?" Lily had asked in surprise.

"Quidditch," Dorea said firmly. "They have little youth clubs for the children. It gives them a chance to knock around together. It builds character, sense of sportsmanship and all that twaddle. It also allows people to see that _you_ are a proper sort of mother with your child's best interests at heart."

"Despite the fact that I'm a disgusting, filthy Muggleborn?" Lily interjected with a roll of her eyes.

A slow, dangerous-sort of smile spread over Dorea's face. "There's hope for you yet, Lily."

"Thanks," Lily muttered.

/\/\/\/\/\

There were few things that Lily loathed more than Quidditch. Gossipy society matrons, perhaps. Every week she took Harry to Quidditch, which he adored, and every week she would sit by herself in the stands. The other mothers would gather in a group to talk. Some knitted, some embroidered, but all of them would sneak sly looks in her direction. Lily was positive she'd even heard a few muffle titters. She rolled her eyes and went back to her book.

One afternoon, Lily was a little late. She apologized profusely to the coach who waved her off with a smile. Harry was already showing a natural talent for Quidditch and the two coaches of the youth club were willing to overlook tardiness for their rising star.

When she turned to take her regular place in the stands she realized with a start that there was already someone there. Dressed in some sort of haute-couture robes in dark green and a sort of muted silver was a beautiful, sleek blonde woman. She had her face carefully averted from the other mothers and she was watching the Quidditch pitch with a cool expression that gave away nothing.

With a sigh, Lily took a different spot in the stands—one that ended up being slightly closer to the blonde woman, and kept her out of earshot of the gaggle of mothers. She had no desire to listen to them tear apart her parenting style.

For the next several days, Lily sat in her new spot and spent most of her son's practice reading—carefully ignoring both the new woman in her chic, terribly expensive robes, and the stuffy, self-righteous group of mothers in their conservative robes.

"What are you reading?" A cool voice asked one day.

Lily looked up from her book in surprise. The voice matched the witch that was for certain; cultured, crisp, and just the right hint of polite interest. Today, the witch was wearing some kind of black silk that was trimmed in what Lily really hoped was faux-fur.

"The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli," Lily recited calmly. She didn't expect any witches or wizards to recognize the title. James hadn't and neither had any of his friends.

It might have seemed odd reading for someone like Lily, but the more she learned about the wizarding world, the more she wondered if 'The Prince' might not be the perfect guide to use for raising her son. The wizarding world was practically feudal, and Harry would need all the help he could get to maneuver his way through it.

"Really?" The witch's voice had grown warmer and she leaned forward, her grey eyes alight with curiosity. "Where did you obtain a copy?"

"At a Muggle bookstore," Lily replied with a bland smile.

"How curious," the witch murmured to herself.

"Why is that curious," Lily asked before she could stop herself.

"To find such a rare book in a Muggle bookstore happens occasionally," the witch elaborated with a careless shrug. "But that you, the very proper wife of James Potter, would be seen reading it in public… _that_ is curious."

"You know who I am," Lily blurted out.

The witch gave no physical evidence such as a smirk or an eye roll, but Lily had the impression that she was amused all the same.

"You have been quite the subject of gossip," the witch observed. She turned so that it appeared as though she were deeply invested in whichever small wizard happened to be her son. "It was astonishing that someone of your background would make every effort to ensure that her son had the _proper_ education."

"I asked my mother-in-law for help," Lily admitted.

The witch gave a tiny, almost imperceptible, nod. "Dorea is a good ally to have," she murmured.

"She contacted you," Lily realized.

"No," the witch corrected her. "I'm here because my husband and my son finally wore me down. I don't care for Quidditch, but they're both mad for it."

"You could have chosen any club," Lily protested.

The witch shrugged again. "I could have. Luckily, I chose this one."

"Luckily?" Lily repeated.

"Would it be possible to read your book, once you're finished?" The witch asked.

"I can do you one better," Lily said with satisfaction. "I can get you your own copy."

"Narcissa Malfoy," the witch said and held out her gloved hand.

"Lily Potter," Lily replied as she took Narcissa's hand in hers. The other witch's fingers tightened on hers momentarily before letting go.

/\/\/\/\/\

At first, Lily wasn't certain as to what was happening. She was unused to invitations from anyone—let alone one of the premiere socialites of the wizarding world. Sirius had thrown a fit when he learned that Narcissa Malfoy was extending invitations to Lily and by extension to Harry.

"You don't know, Lily, but she's my cousin," Sirius had warned her. "Her husband is a nasty piece of work, and she's not better. Don't go. It's probably some kind of trap."

Lily had rolled her eyes at Sirius and turned to glare at James. "I intend to see that our son has every possible advantage, and if that means that I have to smile and play nice with society matrons, then that's what I'm going to do."

James and Sirius might have protested further, but Lily had Dorea's support, so they backed down eventually.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor," Narcissa had greeted her. "Lucius is at the Wizengamot, of course, and you know our Draco from Quidditch."

Little Draco executed a perfect bow over Lily's hand, and she bit her lips to keep from smiling at the picture the young wizard made.

"Harry, you remember Mrs. Malfoy and Draco from Quidditch, don't you?" Lily prompted her son.

"Yes Mummy," Harry replied. He bowed stiffly to Narcissa and then shook hands awkwardly with Draco.

"Perhaps you could show Harry the Nursery, Draco?" Narcissa prompted gently.

Once the boys raced out of the room, Narcissa turned and smiled at Lily.

"Why don't we take tea out on the lawn?" Narcissa suggested.

It continued like that for weeks; invitations to tea, luncheons in Diagon Alley at cafés, shopping with both of their sons in tow. Everything was completely proper in every possible respect… and yet.

There were times when Narcissa would let her hand linger on Lily's arm or shoulder. There were times when Narcissa would touch Lily's hand with hers. Usually Narcissa wore gloves, and Lily never thought anything of it. She knew she enjoyed the witch's company, but she never considered anything else.

"You've got jam on your face," Narcissa told her one day as they took their tea on the Manor's lawn.

"I do?" Lily snatched a serviette and dabbed at her face. "Did I get it?" She demanded.

Narcissa shook her head. "No, you've made it worse. Here, let me."

The witch moved around the table and knelt in front of Lily. Lemon verbena wafted about Lily as Narcissa leaned closer. Carefully, she cupped Lily's face in her hands. The feel of Narcissa's skin against hers sent an electrical shock through her body. The slow slide of Narcissa's thumb against her lips toward the corner of her mouth made heat pool in Lily's belly.

"There," Narcissa pronounced with an air of satisfaction. "All better."

"Thank you," Lily whispered. When Narcissa pulled her hands away, Lily felt cold and bereft.

Maybe Lily could love the way that everyone else did, but apparently not with her husband, or any other man. Perhaps Lily could love that way, but only with witches… only with someone like Narcissa who was as intelligent as she was beautiful.

After that day, Lily began to wonder about all of the little touches. Did they mean something? Was Narcissa trying to say something without actually saying it? There was only one way to find out, and Lily wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing.

Tentatively, Lily started to return Narcissa's casual touches. She would let her hand linger on Narcissa's elbow for the briefest moment, or touch her shoulder to gain her attention. Something flashed in Narcissa's eyes, and Lily filed that away to ponder later.

When they were alone, Narcissa usually left a seat between them, so it was a surprise when Narcissa sat down so that their thighs were touching. Even though layers of robes were between them, it felt as though Lily was on fire from her hip to her knee.

"Narcissa?" Lily's voice was the merest thread of sound.

Narcissa turned to look at her, watching her carefully. "Do you understand what you are doing?" She asked.

Lily bit her lip. "I don't know," she admitted. "But… I think I…"

Narcissa tilted her head, considering Lily. After several moments she leaned forward slowly until her lips were a hair's breadth from Lily's. Lily realized that Narcissa was offering exactly what she had suspected… what she had hoped. She leaned forward to meet Narcissa, pressing their lips together. She let her eyes close and lost herself in the sensation of Narcissa's skillful lips moving against hers.

"Why me?" Lily asked sometime later.

Narcissa attempted to smooth her hopelessly mussed hair and gave Lily a small, secretive smile. Her heart began to beat faster in her chest, and Lily knew that Narcissa was dangerous for her equilibrium in more ways than one.

"You read Machiavelli," Narcissa said with a shrug.


	21. Argus Filch

_A/N: This was a stab at unrequited love, and my Falcons (who are always ready to push the anti-OTP of Filch/Umbridge) suggested this, which isn't all that far from canon, really. Filch is pretty adoring of the Pink of Perfection in OotP. (I dare you to type 'pink of perfection' into the search bar in YouTube. It's a song from a movie I loved as a child called "Summer Magic" and the lyrics fit Umbridge quite well.) I'm not saying that this is healthy or productive by any stretch of the imagination... and yet... the heart wants what it wants. Even Filch's.  
_

* * *

No one ever listened to Argus Filch. The teachers and the Headmaster dismissed his concerns about discipline. He was the joke of Hogwarts, and not even the students paid him any respect. It had been with the firm intention of _making_ them respect him that Argus had sent away for the correspondence Spell courses, but that hadn't worked out quite as he had hoped.

Everything changed when _she_ arrived. A delicate flower of witchhood, she was as an iron fist encased in a pink velvet glove. She was so clean and tidy—so perfectly coiffed and kempt that she radiated a sense of order and discipline.

"She even likes cats, Mrs. Norris," Argus added, expounding on her many virtues.

"Meow," Mrs. Norris replied.

When he got to _her_ door he rapped smartly and waited for permission to enter.

"Come in."

The office of the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor changed with each professor, and this professor was no exception. Argus thrilled every time he entered the clean, tidy offices of the object of his affection. His pink goddess had arranged the office as befit a lady of her breeding and stature, and Argus trembled to be alone with her in her inner sanctum.

"Ah, Mr. Filch, isn't it?" She asked peering over her clipboard at him.

"Argus Filch, at your service," he replied and swept her a low bow.

"I've heard good things about you, Mr. Filch," Professor Umbridge told him with a smile.

Filch's heart spasmed in his chest. She had heard good things about him? Was this some kind of joke… or was she serious?

"I hope so, Madam Undersecretary," Filch told her earnestly.

Her smile widened and she simpered at him. "Oh, Mr. Filch, such courtesy is unnecessary here… between two colleagues. Professor Umbridge is fine."

"Thank you, Ma—erm, Professor Umbridge." Filch shuffled his feet nervously.

"Now, why don't you tell me about your plans for discipline in Hogwarts," she said cheerfully. "I hear that you have some good ideas, and that you might know where some of the… older artefacts… are kept in storage."

Filch stared at her in rapturous delight. "I have asked Headmaster Dumbledore to reinstate flogging," he began slowly and noted with happiness the look of approval in Professor Umbridge's eyes.

"I see," she murmured thoughtfully.

"I know where the manacles are kept," he told her eagerly. "I've been keeping them properly oiled and maintained. Just in case, you know."

"Excellent," Professor Umbridge said with satisfaction. She gave him another smile and Filch felt his ears grow warm. "Can you please make a list of the items that Hogwarts has in storage? You might know… is there… does Hogwarts have a Blood Quill?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," Filch replied. He gazed at her adoringly. "There's one kept in a storage room filled with old discipline devices."

"Wonderful," Professor Umbridge cooed. "Could you show me where it is, Mr. Filch?"

"It would be my honour, Professor."

Later that night, as he took his rounds with Mrs. Norris, he hummed a little tune. Things were going to change around here, and for the better. Hogwarts wasn't going to know what had hit it, but, by Merlin, there would be discipline.

"She's perfect, Mrs. Norris," Mr. Filch murmured to his cat.

"Meow."


	22. Charlus Potter

_A/N: I've had some maternal love, but I don't think we've touched on paternal love. YamiNeko really, really wanted to see a story where people have children that aren't, technically, theirs. So this story is for all the people who love and care for children of their heart._

 _#TeamCharlusDorea #CharlusDoreaForever #Shaya'sHeadCanonFTW_

/\/\/\/\/\

Sitting still, waiting, and being patient were skills that no one born to House Potter had ever really mastered. James and Charlus had taken turns pacing restlessly in the hallway for the last 36 hours. James had thrown in some hand-wringing and muttered self-recrimination for good measure. When Dorea finally emerged, her face pale and her eyes sunken, both men converged on her at once.

"Is he alright?" Charlus managed to get out before James grabbed his mother's hands.

"Mum, is he okay?"

Dorea pulled herself up and glared at the both of them. "Of course he isn't alright," she snapped. "He's been beaten, tortured, and disowned."

"Disowned?" James repeated in a horrified whisper. He looked from his mother to his father. "But…"

"You have five minutes, James," Dorea told him. "He's sleeping now, and I swear to Merlin if you wake him I'll find a way to make you regret it."

"Yes Mum," James muttered. He kissed her cheek absently and slipped into the darkened room.

"What is it," Charlus asked warily.

Dorea paused and gave him a tired smile. She patted him on the cheek.

"Such a clever boy," she sighed. "Knew I married you for a reason."

"Is he…," Charlus found that he couldn't actually say the words out loud. A cold feeling of dread settled in his gut.

Somehow, he had grown to think of Sirius as another son. James and Sirius had been inseparable since their first year, and Sirius was a frequent guest in his home. Charlus had been the one to help them fly their brooms, talked to them about witches, and encouraged them to think about what they wanted to do after Hogwarts. Dorea had been the one to heal skinned knees and broken hearts. Together, the two of them had gained another son without even realizing it. The idea that Sirius might die from the injuries his former family had inflicted filled him with grief and rage.

"No, no," Dorea hurried to reassure him. She stood up on her tip toes and pressed a brief kiss to his cheek. "He'll pull through. I worried a bit at the beginning, but he's stable now. At least… he's physically stable."

"What do you mean?" Charlus asked.

"Mentally, Sirius is a mess," Dorea confided softly. "He's always worried that he wasn't good enough, and now he's been told that he definitely isn't. I… I think it might get bad, Charlus."

"What if we adopted him?" Charlus suggested.

Dorea shook her head. "He and Regulus are the only male heirs to the family. Arcturus won't let this stand. He can't. Adoption would interfere with that."

"We can't let the boy think that he's not wanted… not loved," Charlus protested with a scowl.

"Of course not, darling," Dorea soothed him. She patted him on the arm.

"What about fostering," Charlus said after several moments of silence. "We've basically been fostering him since his first year. We might as well make it more formal."

Dorea nodded and gave him a beatific smile. "That's perfect, Charlus."

At that moment, James slipped out of the room and stared at the both of them, his face stark with pain and anger.

"Mum, are you sure that he… that he'll be okay?" James demanded roughly.

"I promise you, my love," Dorea swore to him. She patted his cheek. "You need to get some sleep so that you can visit with Sirius once he wakes up."

James nodded absently and turned toward his room. Charlus watched his son walk away from them, his shoulders bowed with grief for his best friend… his brother. With a sigh, he turned back to his wife and caught her mid-yawn.

"Go," Charlus said firmly. "I'll watch over him. If anything changes I'll send Pommy for you."

Dorea frowned up at him. "But I…"

"He's stable, yes?" Charlus asked with a pointed glare.

"Yes, for now," Dorea agreed.

"You've been up for 36 hours straight, love. Get some sleep before you pass out. If he needs you… you'll be more of a help if you don't fall asleep in the middle of whatever you need to do," Charlus pointed out.

"You're right. I hate it that you are, but… fine. I'll go sleep for a few hours," Dorea sighed.

Charlus leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "See you in a few hours."

Once Charlus was alone in the hall, he slipped into Sirius' darkened room. There was a chair next to his bed, but it was something Dorea had grabbed because she didn't have time to search for anything else. That thought made the rage bubble up in Charlus' chest again. Their boy had been badly hurt and there was nothing he could do about it. It was a Family Matter and protected under their laws. Charlus transfigured the chair into something far more comfortable and settled down to watch over Sirius.

At some point, Charlus had managed to doze lightly, but he started awake when he heard the rustle of blankets. He jerked awake and leaned forward, trying to peer through the darkness.

"Sirius?" He said as quietly and as gently as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was startle the boy.

"Mr. Potter?" Sirius's voice was sleep roughened and somewhat garble due to the number of potions Dorea had poured down his throat.

"Charlus," Charlus corrected him. He had a feeling that _Father_ was a tainted word for Sirius.

"Wha's happ'nin'?" He asked blearily.

"You're with us at Potter Manor," Charlus explained. He paused and then blundered forward—hoping that this was the right thing to say. "You're home, Sirius. You've always been a part of our family since the first time that James brought you to the Manor. If they don't want you that's their loss—you're ours now, if you wish it."

"Yours?" Sirius whispered uncertainly.

"You're as close to James as a brother," Charlus added. "We've thought of you as a son for years now."

There was a soft sound that might have been a muffled sob, but Charlus was afraid to touch Sirius for fear of hurting him worse than he already was. The doorknob clicked as it turned and Charlus knew that it was Dorea. She always had a sense about these things. Silently she moved to stand next to Charlus.

"Sirius?" She called softly.

"Yes, ma'am?" Sirius' voice was rough and raw in a way that made Charlus' own throat close up.

"How are you feeling?" She asked. "Do you need the pain potions yet?"

"'M better."

Dorea snorted. "That's doubtful. It's more like the pain potions haven't worn off yet. I'll check on you again in a bit."

"D'you… d'you really want me?" Sirius asked hesitantly as she turned to go.

Dorea turned back around quickly and leaned down toward Sirius.

"From the first day that James brought you home, I wished you were mine," Dorea said fiercely. "And now you are. Don't you ever doubt for a moment that Charlus and I love you as a son, Sirius."

Then she leaned down and kissed his forehead.

"Rest," she commanded. "I'll let James in later."

"Yes ma'am," Sirius murmured sleepily.

"It's the pain potions," Dorea explained to Charlus in an undertone. "They make him groggy."

"I'll stay with him, Dorea," Charlus said. He gently nudged her hip. "Go get some more sleep. We're fine here."

"Very well, but call me first thing if he needs _anything_ , Charlus," Dorea replied.

"Yes, yes, I promise," Charlus countered. "I did fine with James and this one isn't even a baby."

Dorea squeezed his arm and he patted her hand. Once she left he settled back in his chair, taking up his vigil over Sirius. _Their boy_.


	23. Vernon Dursley

_A/N: And to even the field. Here's a story about paternal love that is strained—a father struggling to accept his son's life, especially when he has very specific plans and goals for that son. I've always thought it a shame that certain jobs/careers have become gendered and that it's somehow shameful or wrong for a man to do anything that is considered 'feminine'. Because being a woman is so awful and shameful… or something. Wouldn't it be amazing if anyone could do any job and that all people cared about was whether or not they did it well?_

/\/\/\/\/\

"Look, Harry, it means a lot that you were willing to see me," Dudley began, nervously tugging at his collar.

"What's this about Dudley?" Harry asked curiously.

Dudley sighed and fiddled with the pint glass in front of him. He cleared his throat and then rubbed the back of his neck.

"I, um, I want to open a nursery," Dudley whispered across the table.

Harry stared at Dudley in surprise. "What… like with children?"

"No, don't be daft! I mean the kind with plants," Dudley explained.

"Oh. Congratulations?" Harry offered. He frowned at Dudley. "Why the secrecy?"

"Dad's gone mental," Dudley muttered. "He turned purple and said that no son of his was going to be a poncey florist."

"Wait a moment… you mean, you're doing something that your parents don't approve of," Harry asked cheerfully.

"Yeah," Dudley admitted. He shook his head. "Well, Mum is fine with it. She loves the big bouquets of cut blooms that I send her every week."

"So what's the problem, then?" Harry leaned back in his seat and tilted his head, watching his cousin.

"I know that you… that you and dad didn't exactly get along," Dudley sighed.

Harry snorted in amusement. "That's the understatement of the century, Dudders."

Dudley glared at him. "I need this to be successful."

"Because money will win your dad over?" Harry asked with a skeptical expression.

"No," Dudley countered with a shake of his head. "For me. To prove to myself that I can do this."

Harry grinned at him. "In that case, I've got a proposal for you. The only downside is that your dad will positively _hate_ it."

/\/\/\/\/\

"Can I help you, sir?"

Vernon turned to scowl at the burly-looking lad who was wearing a khaki apron that proudly proclaimed "Petunia and Lily's Nursery: Helping You Grow Your Own Garden".

"I'm looking for Dudley," he said stiffly. He straightened his jacket and stood as straight as he could.

"Mr. Dursley's in the greenhouse helping another customer," the lad explained with an apologetic air. "Perhaps I could help you find something?"

"I'll wait," Vernon replied.

"Very good, sir," the lad said with a nod. "I'll just let him know."

Left to his own devices, Vernon poked around the nursery. He wandered about aimlessly, and eventually ended up in a section that appeared to be different from the rest of the nursery. The plants here were carefully cordoned off into sections, and there were several that had warning signs posted. One was labeled "Mandrake! Use protective gear when handling!", and another said "Venomous Tentacula! Keep a 10m perimeter at all times!" Vernon shook his head.

"Dad," Dudley called out. "You aren't meant to be back here. Didn't you see the signs?"

"What?" Vernon turned around to glower at his son. "I didn't see any signs."

Dudley sighed. "Never mind, Dad. It's… it's good to see you. What brings you to the nursery?"

"There's an opening at Grunnings," Vernon announced. He looked over to see Dudley's reaction and was disappointed to see annoyance and irritation on his son's face.

"Dad, I don't want to work at Grunnings. I like plants. I like digging in the dirt. It's good, honest work," Dudley said firmly. "You know this… we've talked about it. Repeatedly."

"But…," Vernon sputtered.

From the moment that Dudley had been born, no, from the moment that Petunia had proudly told him that they were expecting, Vernon had imagined what his son's life would be like. For the most part, Dudley had lived up to all of Vernon's expectations, his dreams, for his son. He had gone to Smeltings and then on to university. Admittedly, Vernon hadn't been too keen on Dudley's agricultural degree, but he hadn't worried about it too much. Plenty of big corporations needed someone with an agricultural degree.

This… this _nursery_ thing though. That wasn't on at all. It wasn't part of any of the plans that he had for his only child.

"You can't be a bloody _florist_ ," Vernon protested. "Swanning about with _flowers_ and cuttings all day long—what sort of career is that for a young man?"

"What's wrong with flowers?" Asked another voice—one that Vernon didn't recognize at all.

He turned around to tell off whoever-it-was for butting into a family discussion, and was forced to look up at a tall, broad, well-muscled man who was looking askance at Vernon. The man had stripped down to his vest and had a couple smears of dirt across one intimidating bicep and one cheek.

"Nothing if that's your sort of thing," Vernon said dismissively. "But my Dudley was meant for greater things."

"Greater than what, exactly?" The man demanded. "Your Dudley is one of the major suppliers for Hogwarts and for St. Mungo's Potion department. He helps save lives. What could be greater than that?"

The fragile hope that Vernon had horribly, drastically misheard the man was shattered when he saw the look of horrified consternation on Dudley's face. He could actually feel his blood pressure skyrocket, and he knew without looking that his face was turning puce.

"Now, Dad, just… calm down," Dudley tried to soothe him.

"Calm down? Calm down!" Vernon sputtered. He glared at Dudley. "How could you get involved with that… that…"

"Harry helped me," Dudley sighed. He waved a hand at the man that was now glowering at Vernon. "This is Professor Longbottom from Hogwarts. He came to pick up their latest order."

"I _forbid_ -," Vernon began to growl when the dirt-smeared Professor began to chuckle.

"Dad, I'm 27. You can't forbid me to do anything," Dudley explained in a flat voice. He crossed his arms over his chest. "You can either accept that this is how it is, or get out."

"You… you can't," Vernon protested weakly.

"I can, Dad," Dudley retorted. "Look, I get that this isn't what you wanted for me, but here's the thing. This is _my_ life, not yours. I need to do this for me, not for anyone else. Can you at least respect that?"

Vernon stared at the stubborn set to his son's jaw and the steely light in his eyes. He looked very much like Petunia had when she had told him that _yes_ , they were keeping her nephew. He had a horrible, sinking feeling that he wasn't going to win this battle either.

He supposed that he could do what Dudley had suggested and get out. The only problem with that was that he did love his son. He wasn't about to say it out loud—he hadn't gone completely round the twist—but he loved the boy, blast it.

"I will try," he replied at last.

Dudley's jaw relaxed and he smiled at his dad. "Good. That's good. Thank you."


	24. Sirius Black

_A/N: This is about siblings. I don't want to say too much more or I'll give it all away._

 _Summer 1979_

The owl arrived at midnight. Sirius recognized it. How could he not? The owl hooted mournfully at him and nibbled his fingers with a melancholy air.

"I've missed you, too, Thanatos," Sirius murmured and gently stroked the soft feathers that grew over Thanatos' keel bone.

The owl held out its ankle, and Sirius carefully undid the letter that was tied to it.

"What's this then?" Sirius asked.

Thanatos hooted mournfully. Sirius dug around his room until he found a bag of owl treats. He gave one to Thanatos and stroked his feathers one last time.

"Okay, boy. Go back, you've done your job," Sirius murmured.

The owl hopped onto the windowsill and then took off into the night.

 _Brother,_

 _Our favourite cousin longs to see you and hopes that you'll come to your senses soon. The work that I've undertaken in your stead has been fascinating… I think you might find it of interest. Perhaps we could meet to discuss your duties and responsibilities to your family and your House. I look forward to hearing from you._

 _RAB_

Before he had even realized that he had done it, Sirius had crumpled the piece of parchment in his hand. Then he took it and tried to flatten it out so that he could read it again. On the surface it looked completely innocuous, but Regulus never did anything only on the surface level. Sirius sighed and rubbed his forehead.

 _Our favourite cousin_ … that was their personal code for Bellatrix and Sirius somehow doubted that she was hoping anything of the kind. Perhaps this was a warning? Bellatrix was looking for him?

 _The work I've undertaken in your stead_ … Sirius paused to roll his eyes. That was a not-so-subtle jibe at the fact that they had wanted Sirius to take the Mark. He snorted to himself. Still, it was an odd sentence. Either Regulus had hit his head and thought that Sirius would just love to become a Death Eater… or he had found out something and wanted to tell Sirius what it was.

For several hours, Sirius pored over the letter trying to figure out what Regulus was trying to tell him. Finally he gave up. There was no hope for it. He was going to have to contact Regulus and find out what his brother had found so interesting that he was willing to break the silence between them.

 _Brother,_

 _I've never forgotten my duties nor my responsibilities to our family and to our House. Perhaps we should talk._

 _SB_

Anxiously, Sirius tapped the letter against the edge of his desk. Should he send it? Should he not? He groaned and let his head fall to his desk with a _thunk_. What good would it do to meet with Regulus? What would it change? Maybe he should wait and talk to James, Remus, and Peter. They would know what to do. Sirius sighed and shoved the letter for Regulus into one of the drawers. It would keep for now.

/\/\/\/\/\

 _Winter 1979_

The letter slipped from Sirius' fingers and fluttered to the ground. He had broken the fancy seal with no small amount of trepidation. His grandfather had written that he wanted Sirius to quit 'shilly-shallying' and come back to the family. Sirius had frowned and then he had continued to read. _The tapestry recorded Regulus' death, and Orion's heart could not take the strain_. _Your House needs you_.

 _The tapestry recorded Regulus' death..._

 _...Regulus' death..._

He fell to his knees, crushing the letter and put his face in his hands.

 _...Regulus' death..._

If only he'd responded quicker. The letter was still tucked away in his desk, unsent. This was his fault—if only he hadn't waited. The Death Eaters must have found out that Reggie was thinking of defecting, and killed him for it, the poor bastard.

Sirius through back his head and screamed as loudly as he could. Then he huddled in on himself, rocking. _Regulus_. _My brother_.


	25. HarryLuna

_A/N: This was just fluff because I really needed some. I guess if there were *something* to take away it might be that not everyone enjoys Valentine's day, and trying to work around what the card and chocolate industries would like us to believe is the most romantic day of the year._

/\/\/\/\/\

"Have you seen these?" Ron asked with a scowl.

Clutched in his hand was a collection of most of the publications in the wizarding world. Plastered across the cover of all of them was Harry Potter. Hermione glanced up from her desk and sighed.

"Yes, I have," she replied.

"Well? What are we going to do about it? You know he hates these stupid things. Harry Potter's Perfect Woman? The Chosen One's Perfect Date? He's going to go mental when he sees these!" Ron protested.

Hermione sighed. "I've done everything I can, Ronald. I've threatened injunctions and tried to throw my weight around as a member of the DMLE. Unfortunately, there isn't much I can do."

"This is going to ruin his Valentine's day," Ron muttered.

Hermione smirked at him from across her desk. "I don't think so. Luna's taking him off for the weekend."

"Hopefully they won't be anywhere near a newspaper. Or a magazine. Or, well, anywhere civilized," Ron said drily.

"I'm sure Luna has a plan," Hermione replied. She glanced at her watch. "Shouldn't you be headed out? Lavender's probably expecting you."

Ron snorted. "And you as well. Your date is practically dancing with impatience out in the reception area."

"It isn't a date," Hermione protested. "Draco and I are work colleagues going out for a drink after work. Nothing more and nothing less."

Ron looked at her pityingly. "Love, when Malfoy takes any of the rest of us out for drinks, we go to the local pub or a sports bar. He has _never_ taken me to the swankiest restaurant in town. A restaurant, I might add, where you almost have to sell your firstborn to get a reservation."

"It's just drinks," Hermione insisted.

"That's fine, it's just drinks. You just tell that twitchy little ferret that if he tries to leave me or Harry off the guest list to your wedding... he'll become intimately knowledgeable about George's latest Wheezes," Ron warned her.

"Ron!"

/\/\/\/\/\

"I know what you're trying to do, you know," Harry observed as he followed Luna up the narrow path.

"You should," Luna agreed. "I told you before we left that we're searching for Crumple-horned Snorkacks."

"No, not that part," Harry protested. "I meant the fact that you got me out of wizarding Britain so I wouldn't have to deal with the regular Valentine's day drama."

"Of course we had to leave wizarding Britain. The Crumple-horned Snorkack lives in Sweden, Harry," Luna said and tossed a bright smile at him over her shoulder.

Harry sighed and continued to follow her up the path.

"I thought it would be colder," Harry said a little while later. He paused and looked around. "And snowier."

"That's a common misconception," Luna said over her shoulder. "We're in Southern Sweden. They've already got some flowers blooming."

Harry eyed the flowers that were growing on either side of the path thoughtfully. Would Luna like flowers? Maybe if they did something interesting like float upside down. Or fairies lived in them or something. Then again… for all he knew fairies _did_ live in these flowers, and then Luna would be sad that he'd destroyed their homes. Harry sighed and continued to follow Luna.

After walking for a good half-hour, they found a meadow that was tucked in a small valley. The grass was green and fresh-looking and the meadow was dotted with little alpine flowers. It looked almost idyllic.

"This can't be right… can it?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Thermal springs," Luna explained. She turned around in a slow circle. "This is perfect."

"For finding Crumple-horned Snorkacks?" Harry asked.

"That too," Luna replied. "But I think we should have lunch first."

"Lunch?" Harry's stomach rumbled and he shook his head. "Okay, maybe we should have lunch."

Somehow, Luna always knew the right thing to do. She unpacked a blanket and a basket filled with all of Harry's favourite things.

"Aren't I supposed to be the one who does all the sweet, romantic gestures?" Harry asked after he sat on the blanket.

"Why?" Luna asked curiously.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

"I think that we should do what makes us happy," Luna observed before she took an enormous bite of her sandwich.

"Yeah?" Harry got up on his knees and leaned over so that he could kiss Luna on the cheek. "Thank you."

"For what?" Luna wiped her mouth with a napkin. "You're the one who was willing to come looking for Crumple-horned Snorkacks with me, Harry. I should be thanking you."

"I love you, Luna," Harry said fondly. "Don't ever change."

"I love you, too, Harry, but… what would I change into?" Luna asked, confusion creasing her brow.

Harry chuckled and shook his head. "Nothing… just you, I guess. Is there treacle tart in there?"

"Of course."


	26. DracoHermione

_A/N: I have never, ever written Dramione, but sincerlyki requested it. So here's my first fragile attempt at Dramione._

/\/\/\/\/\

"Lovely evening for it," Malfoy said with only a hint of a sneer. He raised his glass of wine in a silent toast in the direction of the newlyweds and then took a sip.

"I don't like you," Hermione announced firmly. She was rather proud that she only weaved a little.

Malfoy choked on his wine and began coughing. Hermione carefully set down her cup of punch and then began to pound on Malfoy's back methodically.

"Stop, that's enough," he gasped at her. "You've nearly broken my ribs."

"I could have let you just choke to death," Hermione observed aloud. She sighed heavily and shook her head. "But then your dad would just sue Padma and Susan for every penny they have."

A lazy grin spread over Malfoy's face. "Granger... are you drunk?"

"Don't be silly, Malfoy," Hermione protested. She held up her glass of punch. "This is all I've had all evening."

Malfoy took the cup from her hand, despite her vociferous protests, and sniffed at it experimentally before he sipped it.

"Hey," Hermione protested. "That was mine! Now it's got Malfoy germs all over it!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes at her. "This has been spiked, Granger. You're three sheets to the wind."

"I am not," Hermione retorted indignantly. "I have been very careful all evening."

"Oh really? Let's talk about why you don't like me. I assume it's because I'm a disgusting Death Eater," Malfoy said with a bored air that was belied by the tight set of his jaw.

"It's your hair," Hermione replied.

"My _hair_?" Reflexively, Malfoy reached up to touch his hair. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's always done whatever you wanted it to do," Hermione confessed. "That's suspicious. You can't trust hair like that."

"Yes, manageable hair is one of the first signs that someone's been seduced by the Dark Arts," Malfoy retorted.

Hermione nodded. "I've always thought so," she agreed.

"Oh for—where's Weaselby?" Malfoy demanded.

"I don't know," Hermione replied.

"Look, Granger, your boyfriend isn't going to like you hanging about with me. Why don't you toddle off to one of your friends and leave me and my evil hair alone," Malfoy snapped in frustration.

"Ron isn't my boyfriend," Hermione said with a shrug.

"Granger, go away," Malfoy sighed.

"Why?" Hermione asked. She frowned at Malfoy in confusion.

"Tomorrow, you're going to be horrified that you talked to me—that you were seen with me in public. Just... trust me," Malfoy explained gently.

"You're being nice to me," Hermione accused, pointing a finger at him and peering at him suspiciously.

"It's a one-off, so enjoy it while it lasts," Malfoy drawled.

"Why are you being nice to me," Hermione demanded.

"Because you're kind of cute when you're drunk," Malfoy admitted. Pink stained his cheeks and he closed his eyes. "I really, really hope you forget that part," he muttered under his breath.

"You think I'm cute?" Hermione's mouth fell open and she stared at Malfoy until he put his index finger under her chin and gently closed her mouth.

"When you aren't punching me, yes," Malfoy sighed.

"I only punched you once, 15 years ago," Hermione reminded him.

"As odd as it may sound to you, Granger, not that many people have ever punched me. It's a short list, easy to remember." Malfoy took another sip of his wine and looked away from her.

"Hermione! There you are," Harry called to her. He paused when he realized who was standing next to her. "Are you alright?"

"Malfoy's being nice to me," Hermione said in a loud whisper.

Harry blinked and then turned to eye Malfoy suspiciously. Malfoy held up his hands in front of him.

"Granger is obviously... impaired," Malfoy explained. "It seemed best to, erm, humour her."

"My hair is a fright," Hermione told Harry mournfully. She tugged on one wayward curl. "Do you think that I could be evil, Harry?"

"With the right provocation," Harry replied. "Come on, love, let's get you home."

"But I don't want to go home," Hermione protested. "Malfoy said that this is the only time he'll ever be nice to me. I don't want it to end so soon."

"Trust me, Hermione, you need to go home," Harry said gently.

"I do trust you, Harry," Hermione replied with a solemn face. She weaved about where she stood. "I trust you with my life."

"I know you do, love. Come on now, say goodbye to Malfoy." Harry began to steer her toward the Floo.

"Goodbye Malfoy," Hermione said. She waved at him as Harry tugged her away.

"Good night, Granger," Malfoy said and saluted her with his wine.

/\/\/\/\/\

When the elevator opened to reveal Draco Malfoy and his perfectly coiffed hair, Hermione thought about getting out—even though this wasn't her floor. She was the only one in the elevator, and the idea of riding alone with Malfoy filled her with dread. Then she saw the indecision on Malfoy's face and some part of her decided that she would just stay on the damn elevator and watch him squirm.

"Malfoy," she greeted him with a polite nod.

"Granger," he murmured back, avoiding her eyes.

"How are you?" Something made her draw out the conversation, if it could be called that. She wasn't certain what imp of perversity had taken hold of her, but she wasn't willing to let Malfoy go that easily.

Malfoy hesitated. "I'm... well. And you?"

"I can't complain," Hermione replied with forced cheerfulness. "The DMLE has had great success with some of the Wizengamot's new initiatives."

"Really?" Malfoy's cheek twitched and Hermione had the sneaking suspicion that he was trying to suppress a smirk. Her stomach flipped nervously. "Any regarding the morality of hair?"

Merlin, she'd forgotten that she'd actually said that out loud. She was going to slowly murder whoever had spiked that punch.

"No," Hermione replied stiffly. "Although it might be an avenue worth pursuing."

Malfoy muffled a snort. "They would love any excuse to throw me in Azkaban. I'm sure that they would jump at the opportunity."

"I wouldn't let them," Hermione snapped.

It took a moment for Hermione to realize that she had actually said that out loud. Malfoy stared at her.

"Have lunch with me," he said.

"I don't like you," Hermione reminded him.

Malfoy rolled his eyes at her. "I heard you the first time. Have lunch with me."

"I... alright." Hermione couldn't look at him. She knew her cheeks were burning and she refused to look at him and see the smug smirk on Malfoy's face.

"You're cute when you're embarrassed," Draco said after a moment.

"Prat," Hermione muttered.


	27. Andromeda Black

_A/N: This is a complex mess. Sisterly love, but also a nod to those who have had to leave their families (or have been thrown out of their families) because they fell in love with the 'wrong' person._

* * *

"You can't do this, 'Dromeda," Cissy whispered frantically. Her fingers were digging into Andromeda's arm, the nails gouging her skin.

Andromeda turned to look at her little sister. Cissy's eyes were wide and frightened and her nostrils were flaring as she fought to keep herself from crying. Her chin was quivering with the effort.

"Pull yourself together, Cissy," Andromeda snapped. "You are a Black. Act like it."

"But you won't be," Cissy whispered. "Not if you do this. They'll disown you. You know they will."

"What's one more worthless daughter, in the end," Andromeda sneered.

"'Dromeda, please," Cissy begged. "If you just tell Father that you don't want—"

Andromeda's laughter was bitter and cold and Cissy faltered into silence.

"Father doesn't care what I _want_ as long as I do what I'm _told_ ," Andromeda hissed. She jerked her arm out of her sister's hold. "Leave, Cissy. It's best that you don't know what I'm about to do."

"So that I can plead innocence?" Cissy asked with a roll of her eyes.

Andromeda turned back to glare at her sister. "Do you think that this will be a joke to them? Like the time that you stole Lucius Malfoy's broom for a joyride? You will be lucky if they stop at the _Cruciatus_ if they think you helped me."

Cissy pulled herself up to her full height and tried to look down at her nose at Andromeda. It was an attempt to imitate the cool superiority that Mother adopted when she was dealing with those she felt inferior. Andromeda fought the urge to roll her eyes. Cissy was standing there in a thin cotton nightgown and fuzzy slippers—hardly intimidating.

"Does this... this _Mudblood_ mean more to you than your family, 'Dromeda," Cissy demanded.

Faster than either of them could credit it, Andromeda had her wand out and the tip of it was digging painfully into the delicate skin of Cissy's neck. She sucked in a breath and stared at her sister with wide eyes.

"Do _not_ ," Andromeda growled.

Rage twisted her features and Cissy whimpered. Her fear was delicious, like wine, and Andromeda had to take several deep breaths to get herself back under control. Just because she had done the impossible and fallen in love with a Muggleborn didn't mean that Andromeda wasn't a Black. Just because she was turning her back on her Family, her House, and her heritage didn't mean that she wasn't a dab hand at the Dark Arts. She fully planned on using those Arts to protect herself and her future husband. Andromeda did not doubt that her House would bring the full weight of its power against her. Bella would never forgive her when she found out.

"'Dromeda." There was acceptance in Cissy's voice, but there was heartbreak, too.

Guilt flooded Andromeda, weighing her down. She was turning her back on Bella and Cissy. She would never see them again after tonight—unless Bella came to kill Andromeda for her betrayal.

"I'm sorry, Cissy," Andromeda said at last. "I wish there were another way, but..."

A hard light entered Cissy's eyes and her lip curled. "But you choose _him_."

"I do," Andromeda agreed. She smirked at her sister. "And he has chosen me, which is more than I can say for either you or Bella."

"'Dromeda _please_ ," Cissy tried again. "Think about what this will do to Mother and Father."

Andromeda shook her head. "Mother and Father will be furious that I have embarrassed them. That is all. Leaving you and Bella... that I reget."

"But you're going anyway." Cissy scowled at her.

"Yes."

"I hate him," Cissy said defiantly.

"I know you do," Andromeda agreed.

"He doesn't deserve you," Cissy raged.

Andromeda shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe I don't deserve him."

"How can you say that when he's a... what he is, and you are a daughter of the House of Black?" Cissy demanded. She shook her head. "Explain this to me so that I can understand."

"He is... impossibly good. He is a such a kind, decent wizard," Andromeda explained slowly. "I _am_ a Black with everything that entails. I am not good, Cissy. Not even a little. I don't _want_ to be good, but I do want him."

"Go then," Cissy retorted. "Run off to be with your Hufflepuff lover. Abandon us for whatever life he can give you."

Bitterness threaded through Cissy's words, but Andromeda heard the hurt. She sighed and stared at her sister—still held captive by Andromeda's wand digging into her ridiculously fair skin.

"I love you, Cissy. No matter what, I love you," Andromeda said.

Cissy's eyes widened in fear. "Don't!"

"I'm sorry," Andromeda whispered. " _Petrificus Totalus!_ "

Quickly Andromeda gathered the bags she had already packed and hidden in her closet. She pulled on her thickest, warmest robes and hurried toward the door. She paused next the furious, frozen figure of her sister.

"Goodbye Cissy." She leaned forward and kissed the stone-like cheek of her little sister.

Then she turned and left the House of Black. Forever.


	28. HarryHermione

_A/N: It isn't that I don't love a good Harmony story because I do. It's just that there's something sort of amazing about Harry and Hermione's friendship. I love stories that have their friendship somewhere in it._

 _This isn't part of some greater piece of work. I just wanted a way to show how much trust exists between these two characters. This scene has been rolling around in my brain for months and I finally realized that I could use it here._

/\/\/\/\/\

"Stop!" The Muggle police shouted.

Trapped, Hermione whirled to face them. She had nowhere to go, and her wand had been accidentally snapped by an ignorant inspector. They had no idea who or what she was, but they didn't want to let her escape. _Stupid_! She'd been so stupid, but it was impossible to ignore a possible lead in her latest case. The disappearances of several Muggleborn witches had frightened her and enraged Harry. They both suspected that something Dark was going on, but they had no proof to take to their superiors.

As she backed away she felt her back hit the wall, and something else. She turned around again and almost cried with happiness. Maintenance stairs... stairs which led to the roof and escape. Once they lost sight of her, Hermione would be able to conceal herself and find a way to contact Harry. Without considering it any further, Hermione turned and began to climb the stairs as quickly as she could.

"Miss, I need you to stop," the police shouted at her.

One of them raced to the stairs and began to climb after her.

 _Bloody buggering hell_. Hermione climbed faster. The little door that led to the roof was locked, but Hermione forced her will and her magic on it and the lock snapped. She pushed the door up and let it fall onto the roof. She scrambled out onto the roof and began to run.

"Miss! Stop, or we'll be forced to shoot," called the police.

Hermione risked a glance back and saw that the officer was holding a taser. She raced to the edge of the roof and looked down. Vertigo washed over her and Hermione swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat. Merlin, she hated heights. She turned her back to the dizzying edge and took two steps forward. The officer had frozen near the door—apparently worried that she would fling herself to her death.

"Look, miss, whatever it is you're frightened of, it isn't worth killing yourself," the officer protested. He looked over his shoulder for his back up.

Soon, they were all on the roof, keeping Hermione from any possible escape route. Panic set in and she bounced on her toes, looking for a break that she could use to her advantage.

"Oi, Granger!" A familiar, much beloved voice bellowed. "To me!"

It was directly behind her. Hermione carefully made her way to the edge and peered over. Several flights down, standing on the street, was Harry in his full Auror robes. There were a couple other Aurors that she couldn't quite make out who appeared to be focused on crowd control. Relief filled Harry's face and she could see the tense line of his shoulders relax.

"Come on, love," he called to her. "I've got you."

Hermione nodded and gave him a thumbs up. The she turned back to the police who were spread out in a loose semi-circle around her. She took a deep breath and then walked toward them. They bunched together nervously and eyed her movements warily. She turned her back to them, took a deep breath and began to run to the edge where Harry was waiting for her.

"Miss! Don't!" She heard the cries of consternation behind her, but she blocked them out.

The one constant in Hermione's life had always been Harry Potter. Closer than a brother or a lover, the other half of her soul, no one understood their relationship. Harry was her safe harbor—he was her lodestone. She felt her feet touch the lipped edge of the roof. Automatically, her eyes sought out Harry who was standing below with an encouraging look on his face. She closed her eyes, spread her arms, and jumped.

Magic slowed her descent and when she reached Harry, he caught her easily. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. The sickening lurch of Apparation wasn't a surprise. Hermione had known that they would have to leave as quickly as possible.

"Thank you," Hermione mumbled into his robes.

"I'll always be there to catch you, Hermione," Harry said gently. "You're bigger than a snitch, but you're worth a lot more to me." He set her down carefully and then pulled back to glare at her. "That doesn't mean we aren't going to have a chat about investigating without back up."

"They snapped my wand," she confessed. "The inspector had no clue what it was and he just... broke it."

"Did you find out anything?" Harry asked with a sigh.

"Yes, I... I think maybe I did," Hermione replied.

"Good... just... don't do that again. When I realized that you had left, and then when we found you trapped on that roof—do you have any idea what you put me through?" Harry demanded.

Hermione snorted. "The same thing _you_ put _me_ through when you fling yourself in front of every madman with a wand."

"Fine, we're both inconsiderate wankers," Harry retorted. He sighed again. "I'll try if you try?"

"Deal," Hermione agreed.

"Good. Let's fill in our reports and then we can go get something to eat. Rescuing you always makes me hungry," Harry complained.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Let's go."


	29. HermioneLestrange brothers

_A/N: Okay, so there was an anon request on tumblr for D/s, and that person left the choosing of my victims up to me. Bless their anonymous little heart. I asked my Falcons for help and Nexie said 'Hey, what about that Lestrange/Hermione story you had?'_

 _So I had a whole huge premise etc. for a big story that I never actually finished or posted anywhere. I guess you could consider this a peek into their dynamic... um... slice of life?_

 _Also, the working title of this one was 'Hermione and her giant Death Eating puppies of DOOM'._

/\/\/\/\/\

"Sit still," Hermione said.

"Sorry, Mistress," Rabastan murmured.

Hermione sighed heavily. "I've asked you not to call me that," she reminded him.

Rabastan froze under her hands, his body tensed as he waited. Hermione sighed again.

"I'm not going to punish you for calling me Mistress," she said in a quiet, calm voice.

Neither of the Lestrange brothers took being yelled at well. Rabastan tended to shake and Rodolphus just shut down and waited for the pain to begin.

"It is... difficult for us to say your name," Rodolphus offered from the couch that Hermione had told them was _theirs_.

It had been disconcerting to have them seated at her feet like dogs, but they had stared at her blankly when she asked them to sit in chairs or on the settee in the living room. They managed to reach a tentative agreement only when she proclaimed certain things as belonging to them, and then made a show of not sitting in those seats.

"I don't understand, but I am trying," Hermione replied. "I just... it feels _wrong_."

"It feels wrong, to Bas, to _not_ call you Mistress," Rodolphus pointed out.

"Right," Hermione muttered half to herself.

Silently, Rabastan held out the hairbrush. Hermione took it from him and began to brush his hair. Both of the Lestrange brothers had hair that Hermione envied. Thick, silky strands of blue-black slid between her hand and the brush. As Hermione brushed out his hair, Rabastan relaxed against her knee; it was a display of trust that never failed to humble Hermione. He leaned into each stroke of the brush.

"There," Hermione announced some time later. "All done."

"Thank you, Mistress," Rabastan said with a happy relaxed smile. He froze and stared at her with wide eyes when he realized what he had said.

"It's fine," Hermione said gently. She patted him on the shoulder. "Go read your book. Rodolphus, it's your turn."

Carefully, Rabastan got up off the floor and walked over to the bookcases that covered most of the wall in the living room. He selected a book and then walked over to couch where he sat with a stiff formality that hurt Hermione to watch. At the same time, Rodolphus had gotten up from the couch, walked over to her, and then dropped gracefully to kneel at her feet. The dichotomy between the stiff, careful sitting and the relaxed graceful kneeling never failed to set Hermione's teeth on edge.

It bothered her that Rabastan and Rodolphus were _happier_ and more _relaxed_ when they were able to kneel at her feet. It bothered her even more that she made them sit in a way they found uncomfortable so that _she_ could feel more comfortable. She sighed and picked up the brush again. Rodolphus put his hand on hers and turned so that he could look up at her.

"We make you unhappy," he observed with a frown.

"Well, I make you unhappy so I guess it's a fair deal," Hermione retorted.

Rodolphus' frown grew darker. "You do not make us unhappy," he countered in an even voice. It was his 'I am not directly challenging you in any way, Mistress, but you're wrong' voice.

"I make you wear clothes and sit in the chairs," Hermione pointed out.

Rodolphus shook his head. "You also allow us to bathe every day, wear clothes, and eat regular meals."

"I just wonder if you wouldn't be happier somewhere else." Hermione spoke slowly, choosing her words with care. "Maybe there is someone who is able to be the sort of... of Mistress that you need."

Rodolphus immediately turned to Rabastan who was staring at Hermione blankly. His face had drained of colour and his hands were shaking. Rodolphus turned back to Hermione and he scowled.

"You are our Mistress."

"Yes... but, what if I'm doing it wrong?" Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know how this works. So far I've basically tried to do the exact opposite of anything Bellatrix did."

Rabastan and Rodolphus stared at her.

"You think that you're a bad Mistress?" Rabastan asked incredulously. He turned to Rodolphus. "Dolph... tell her."

"It is... not polite," Rodolphus muttered. Then he sighed and rubbed at his left temple absently. "We like you. As our Mistress, I mean. You care and you try so hard. We... appreciate that."

"But I make so many mistakes," Hermione protested.

"When you make mistakes, you listen," Rodolphus countered. "You learn what went wrong and you never repeat them."

"And you take the time to make us feel safe," Rabastan added softly. "You yelled at the St. Mungo's healers for not taking care of us."

"Of course I did," Hermione replied indignation at the memory rising within her. "You could have been permanently injured!"

"That is what makes you a good Mistress," Rodolphus said. Then he handed her the brush and turned around so that he could settle back into his kneel.

That was that. Rodolphus considered the matter settled. Now it was time for Hermione to do more important things—like brush out his hair. As the brush slid through his hair, Rodolphus allowed himself to relax against her knee the way Rabastan did. He had never done that before. Instead he had always held himself perfectly still. She bit her lip and continued to brush out his hair, carefully working out the tangles.

"There," she said at last. "All done."

"Thank you, Mistress," Rodolphus murmured. He stilled and turned to look up at her.

"You're welcome, Rodolphus," she replied and patted his shoulder. "You can both amuse yourselves for the next hour or so. I've got some correspondence to catch up on."

"Yes Mistress," they chorused.

Hermione hurried from the room.

 _A/N: Wow. I can't believe February is over. Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, or made special requests. You guys kept this thing going and kept me on track. I love you guys!_


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